


An Unexpected Guest

by Fallen_Leaves_25



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Because do we really care what her name is?, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Modern Character, Multi, Not that anyone but Tolkien actually knew this (Tolkien you sly dog), Probably not., Pseudonym for a main character, Time Travel, Where Middle Earth is simply ancient Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_Leaves_25/pseuds/Fallen_Leaves_25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a 21st century woman finds herself plopped into Middle Earth and has to travel with a company of 15 crude, smelly, frustrating men, all while trying to change the ending of a tale she thought only found in a children's book. What use is foresight against the stubbornness of dwarves? Suppose she won't know until she tries. </p><p>Besides, she's grown quite fond of one crude, smelly, frustrating dwarf in particular, and has no intention of letting him kick the bucket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Down the Hobbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the product of many sleepless nights and the excitement of purchasing the extended editions of both An Unexpected Journey and The Desolation of Smaug. A couple of notes for the readers before I begin.
> 
> 1) In my headcanon, humans from the 21st century are the same height as dwarves. When Tolkien was writing The Lord of the Rings, he mistook the humans from Middle Earth to be the same as us. What this means is that, in my world, humans from Middle Earth are anywhere from six to seven and a half feet tall. Numenorians and the Dunedain are, of course, even larger. 
> 
> 2) I purposefully do not divulge the real name of the main character. She adopts a pseudonym, of course, but I haven't decided if she is going to have a real, 21st century name. This may be subject to change depending on the whims of my muse. As it is now, I like the hint of mystery. 
> 
> 3) I will probably be mostly following the events of Peter Jackson's interpretation of The Hobbit. I realize that there are some things he changes, but I like his characterization of many of the dwarves better than Tolkien's original effort, but don't feel the need to have my character have the whole book vs. movie debate in the actual story, so I will be borrowing from both and calling it all The Hobbit. Apologies to Peter Jackson and J.R.R. Tolkien both. 
> 
> And, as should be obvious, I do not own the characters of The Hobbit, apart from the kick-ass (and female) main character. 
> 
> Hope that you all enjoy, dear audience. Onwards then!

_This is ridiculous,_ she thought to herself, glancing at the surrounding trees with no small amount of exasperation. This started out with a quiet evening walk through the woods and had quickly deteriorated into an exercise of patience. Sure, she was no woodsman, but she rarely made a habit of losing herself in the woods. She pulled out her phone.

Still no service. _Damn._

With a huff, she shoved her hands back into her pockets and trudged along. As the minutes wore on and she still hadn’t caught a glimpse of the edge of the woods, she finally became worried. There were supposed to be wolves in these woods. And while not quite freezing, the night was beginning to get chilly. Then, with a loud crack, the sky opened up and began pouring rain. The path began to turn to mud, and her boots slid across the slick mixture of leaves and wet earth. A foot slid out from under her and she latched onto a nearby tree to regain her shaky balance.

_Great,_ she thought. _Just great._

However, something about this storm was off. Lightning webbed across the sky, thunder peals rolling one on top of the other again and again. She squint her eyes against the flashes of light, unable to make out the path.

Desperate to get out of the forest of natural lightning rods, she picked up her pace. The wind began to howl through the trees, kicking up forest debris in great gusts, reducing her range of vision to a couple feet in front of her. Then a massive CRACK startled her, and she tripped over a hidden tree root, taking a dive down into a ravine. Head over heels she tumbled, banging into branches and rocks on her way down to the bottom. With a thud, she lost consciousness.  

* * *

 

She came to with a raging headache. Her extremities had lost much of their warmth and they tingled as she slowly stretched and sat up. The hectic storm from before seemed to have passed, calming into a light drizzle.

Balancing on unsteady, tingling feet, she took stock of her surroundings. The ravine she had tumbled into was significantly less steep than she had thought based upon her tumble. Knowing that she couldn’t continue to tarry at the bottom of the ravine, as she was becoming colder and wetter by the second, she began to scale the muddy slope. Her fingers prickled and burned as she fought to grip the vegetation and pull the rest of her body along. On reaching the top, she flopped over on her back and spent a few blissful seconds gulping air and staring up into the overcast sky. There was a broken branch digging into her lower back, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. Exhaustion and pain won this round.

After realizing that staying there much longer would only be perpetuating all of her previous problems at the bottom of the ravine, namely the unbearable damp and cold, she heaved herself to her feet and continued walking through the forest in hopes of finding the tree line. She pushed on through the rain and wind, motivating herself with visions of hot tea and oven-warmed scones, along with the newest episode of her current TV show. Yes, a little chamomile and _Bones_ was exactly what this disastrous evening called for.

Finally, in the distance, she caught sight of lights and an end to these accursed woods.

_Civilization!_ She thought gratefully. _Thank goodness I left the lights on._

So when she stepped out of the edge of the tree line to the sight of rolling hills and the small, round, lit windows sprinkled across them she was understandably confused. Where was her quaint little vacation cottage? Her adorable (and more than a little impractical) Smart car rental? Her hot chamomile tea and scones?

Gone.

In their place was someone’s _Lord of the Rings_ fantasy camp, complete with smials and a distinct lack of electricity, if the absence of power lines was any indication.

For a second she considered turning right back around and tromping into the woods again. She was as much a fan of Tolkien’s works as the next bibliophile, but she had never been overly fond of the LARPing, role immersion type of fan. They tended to be creepily intense. And more than a little off their rockers. She had come to vacation in the middle of the English countryside to get away from people, not to have to play nice with a bunch of _Lord of the Rings_ fanatics. But, she was beginning to realize that pneumonia might be a serious problem if things continued as they were, so she girded her loins and started down the slope into “the Shire.”

_The office will probably be at Bag End, just to forestall all the riots,_ she thought to herself, chuckling a bit at the mental image of crowds of fans brawling for the privilege of staying in the smial of Bilbo Baggins. _So all I have to do is keep an eye out for the green door at the top of the hill._ Feeling better now that she had a plan, she headed for higher ground, on the lookout for any type of sign post that would indicate where the camp office was.

In the end, it wasn’t that difficult of a task after all, as there was only one “smial” that had any light more significant than a candle in the window. Positively giddy at the idea of being out of the deluge, she hurriedly let herself in the gate and up the steps to the door. Oddly enough, the door seemed no smaller than any regular door, only rounder than the accepted norm. Shrugging it off as a regrettable, but ultimately practical, modification, she knocked at the door. And then proceeded to cradle her hand because _damn_ her fingers were cold.

After a few seconds the door flew open and a short, slightly rotund man appeared in the entryway, shouting back over his shoulder, “—that was the last of them!” Then he spun to face her and stopped short. “O-oh,” he stuttered, “pardon me. I thought you were someone else.”

She knew she must have made quite a sight. When she went out walking, she didn’t usually dress for company. Which meant no makeup, a Carhartt jacket, work jeans and hiking boots. All of which were now covered in a good amount of mud and forest litter due to her tumble in the woods. She shifted her feet self-consciously.

 “I am very sorry to disturb your evening,” she said to the small man nervously. “It’s just, I was out in the woods and got a little turned around when that storm came along earlier, and I can’t seem to find my way back to my cottage. Do you have a map of the area I can borrow, or maybe a computer?”

For a while, it seemed that the man might not answer and would leave her stranded out on his front stoop in the pouring rain. From inside came sounds of a great party, with much banging and clanging as male voices called out to each other over the din. However, the man eventually seemed to snap out of his stupor and began to chatter.

“Oh dear, yes, come inside! Come inside! Oh goodness, you’re quite a mess aren’t you?” She felt bad that her attire had caused such an anxious look on the man’s face, but found that she wasn't quite sorry enough to relinquish any of her belongings, even the ones covered in mud. Grateful nonetheless for the invitation, she ducked inside the iconic green door, awkwardly lingering in the entryway, uncertain about tracking mud further into the house. The small man shut the door against the rain and bolted it as well, muttering, “That’ll keep them out,” under his breath. Then he turned to face her.

“So sorry about keeping you out there. I am afraid I haven’t properly introduced myself. I am Bilbo Baggins.” He gave a short bob.

_And so it begins,_ she thought wearily to herself. Although, glancing down at his bare feet and noting the irregular size and prodigious amount of hair adorning them, she had to give him points for authenticity. However, she felt no need to share her real name with someone who was pretending to be a middle-aged fictional character and so said, “I am Gwendolyn. A pleasure to meet you Bilbo Baggins.” It was definitely going to be a challenge to get through this without giggling. How did people get so into this kind of stuff?

Bilbo-not-really-Bilbo gave her a kind smile and said, “A pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Gwendolyn. A sight more pleasurable than my other meetings this evening. May I take your…” Here he made a vague gesture towards her mud-covered Carhartt. “Your belongings?”

She reflexively clutched her coat closer, loathe to part with anything in this strange fantasy land. However, common courtesy and good sense won out and she peeled off her coat, gloves, and boots and set them down in an alcove off the entryway. As she turned back around, she caught the tail end of Bilbo’s curious inspection of her sweatshirt and work jeans ensemble, complete with polka-dotted fuzzy socks. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him like some kind of elementary school student.

_I don’t care if it does mess up the reality of your role-playing,_ she thought grumpily. _There is no way you are getting me out of any more of my clothes, pervert._

Seeming to sense at least her discomfort, Bilbo cleared his throat and stepped around her and further into his “smial.” “I am afraid that I am already hosting a group tonight. If you’d like, I can set you up with a small plate in the kitchen, away from all the commotion.”

On cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. She blushed. “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like that very—”

“Mr. Boggins!” With a clatter, two men tumbled around the corner, arms thrown around each other in merriment. “Mr. Boggins!” the dark-haired one called out again. “We must commend you on your excellent ale. Can you perhaps show us to the rest of your cellar?”

“Many a tankard is running dry!” the blonde one added with gravitas, as if a rash of dry tankards was a very pressing matter indeed.

“As if a few empty tankards are such a bad thing! I’d say the travesty is the way you dwarves pilfered my pantry!”

“Ah, come on Mr. Boggins!” the dark one wheedled plaintively.

“Fíli, Kíli! Leave off, we’ve found the cellar!” came the shout from around the corner. With a pair of mischievous grins, the two disappeared into the other room, where Gwen could only assume the feast was taking place.

_So,_ she thought, _The Hobbit then_. It would make sense, she supposed, with such a young “Bilbo.” That would make the rest of the players dwarves, she imagined. She was surprised, though, that such young and handsome men as “Fíli” and “Kíli” would be into this kind of thing. _To each their own_ , _I suppose._

Bilbo turned to look at her. “I am so sorry, Miss Gwendolyn. I had no idea that I would have so much company this evening.”

She couldn’t stop the slightly impatient huff that escaped her. “Look,” she said, “I know what this place is, and I really couldn’t care less. I didn’t mean to interrupt your game. If you could just leave me in the kitchen with a small snack and a map, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Bilbo gave her an inscrutable look, and then led her into his kitchen. 

* * *

 

Bilbo was not having a very good evening. A very good day, even. It had all started to go wrong when that dratted wizard had interrupted his lovely afternoon smoke, going on about adventures and “good mornings” and other such nonsense. Really, the gall! A hobbit of his station and standing going off on an adventure! What utter nonsense. Believing Gandalf to be dismissed, he had settled in for a relaxing supper when not one, not two, not _three_ , but twelve (twelve!) dwarves came knocking at his door. Plus the wizard that he thought he had gotten rid of in the first place. His pantry had been pillaged, his doilies desecrated, his cellars consumed, and now they had stooped to cavorting with his china! Yes, Mr. Baggins hates this very much, thank you for asking!

He stomped after the dwarves tossing his dishes, following the singing to its source. At least they had the decency to put the dishes in the kitchen, if any remained unbroken after this farce. Wait… The kitchen was where—

“Hey, watch where you’re throwing that! I hope these dishes are plastic!”

That’s right, he’d put his last visitor, the girl, in the kitchen. This wasn’t good. He hurried around the corner and beheld the girl and the dark haired dwarf (Kíli, maybe?) in an intense staring match. The lad’s elder brother, Fíli, was watching with a smirk on his face while the rest of the dwarves grumbled to themselves. Shy little Ori looked on with fascination from behind Dori’s sheltering arm.

“Well, Bilbo Baggins, it seems like you have no shortage of visitors tonight.”

Bilbo spun around to see the wizard lounging in the doorway, puffing his pipe and calmly taking in the scene. Bilbo huffed.

“I much prefer to entertain guests that I have actually _invited_ , Gandalf. And to know them before they come visiting. Is this girl another one of your party then? I thought twelve to be quite a sufficient number myself.” 

“I am indeed expecting one more tonight, Master Baggins. However, this girl is not familiar to me.” He took a long puff of his pipe, wreathing his face in smoke. “Very unfamiliar indeed.”

“Well,” Bilbo stated, unsure of what exactly he meant to say but feeling that something needed to be said in response to such cryptic musings. Then his mind caught up with the rest of the conversation. “Wait, one more?”

At that, heavy knocking could be heard throughout the smial and Gandalf turned his heavy gaze upon him.

“He is here.”


	2. Toto, I've a Feeling We're Not in Kent Anymore...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwen becomes fed up with persistent dwarvishness and Fíli practices his listening skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't usually update this work so quickly, but the words demanded to be posted. Far be it from me to refuse. Thank you for all the wonderful feedback!

Gwen had to admit, these guys were committed. Every inquiry as to their real lives and professions or even to events beyond the realm of “Middle Earth” was met with misdirection, confusion, or blank stares. If she didn’t know any better, she’d even say that “Fíli” and “Kíli” were actual brothers. But what was the chance of that?

Speaking of Kíli. She had watched with some amusement as they re-enacted “That’s What Bilbo Baggins Hates,” noticing that they had taken some liberties with tune. All amusement had fled when the party had moved to the kitchen and she’d narrowly missed being skewered by a flying fork. She’d then politely asked Kíli if he wouldn’t mind flinging his forks elsewhere, and he’d replied that yes, he very much would and asked whether she had one of the forks hidden up her backside and, well…

“You are one of the most uncouth, barbaric men I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“Hey, who are you calling a man?” A small pause. “And what’s uncouth mean?”

“It means I think you are a bloody jackass, is what it means! And would you cut it out with the dwarf stuff already?”

“Well, since I am a dwarf, that would be a little difficult, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh for heaven’s sakes, just—”

“What is going on here?” boomed a deep voice from the doorway. Standing at the threshold was a tall man, reaching almost six feet, with long, dark hair shot through with silver. He had deep set eyes and a strong blade of a nose, accented by the silver fur of his collar.

She looked up and threw her hands up in the air. “Are you serious? Please, someone tell me he’s joking.”  

The tall, brooding “dwarf,” who she could only guess was supposed to be Thorin Oakenshield, ignored her completely. Instead he spoke to someone in the hallway. “Gandalf, what is the meaning of this? This was only intended to be a meeting between my company and the burglar.”

A massive man stepped out of the shadows into the light of the kitchen fire. Even barefoot, the man must have been at least seven feet tall. _Whoa,_ she thought to herself, _no wonder they cast him as Gandalf. He makes the rest of them actually look like dwarves._

All in all, the entire group was cast remarkably well. Thorin looked suitably brooding and majestic; Dwalin (or at least the one she assumed was Dwalin) had the requisite tattoos and upper body strength; Gandalf the kind, wizened face framed by the long grey beard; Bilbo the slightly round hobbit belly and mop of messy curls. They were all decked out in full costume, complete with beards, braids, and beads. She had seen the pile of weapons in the entryway that appeared authentic, or at least sharp enough to cause serious damage. Not one of them broke character in the entire time she was here: no phones were pulled out, no accent was dropped, and no one made any mention of anything that could not be found in Middle Earth. They even affected some fairly convincing confusion at her clothes and accent, although she wasn’t sure if that was because she was American. Either way, she had to hand it to them— it was all very impressive. But she was cold, she was wet, and frankly, she was exhausted, so when Mr. High-and-Mighty ignored her as though she was little more than an insect beneath his boot, she was done playing along with their little fantasy.

“Look, I get that you all are really into this sort of thing, and I can respect that, I really can. But I’m lost, I’m tired, and all I’m asking for is five minutes of your time to get me pointed in the right direction and I promise I’ll let you get back to your ‘Quest for Erebor.’” 

A thunderous expression crossed Thorin-not-really-Thorin’s face. “Who here spoke of Erebor? How did you discover the nature of our quest?” He turned his glare upon the rest of the players, eyes finally fixing on the youngest members.

Kíli gave a squawk. “It wasn’t me, Uncle! Honest!”

Gwen gave an indignant sniff. “Oh, come on, will you just drop the act for a few seconds? Look ‘Thorin Oakenshield’” — here she inserted visibly sarcastic air quotes— “I really couldn’t care less about this game you’re all playing. I just want to get back to my nice, relaxing, _solitary_ vacation.”

But none of them were paying her words any heed. Thorin stepped forward menacingly. “How did you come to know my name, witch?”

She threw her hands in the air again. “Oh for Christ’s sake!” she exclaimed. “That’s it, I’m done.” And with that, she pushed past His Majestic Huffiness and stomped off down a corridor to locate an office, determined to find a map or computer or _something_ with which to find her way out of this circus.

* * *

 

As soon as the girl left the room, the entire company burst into conversation.

“Well I never!” Dori exclaimed. “To see a young lady behaving with such—”

“Did you see the way she shouted at Uncle?” Kíli whispered with glee. “That was—”

“That lassie better watch herself, I’ll not have her disrespecting mine King.” Dwalin crossed his massive forearms and punctuated his warning with an ominous glare.

“And her clothes?” Dori really wasn’t going to let this go. “Have you ever seen anything so—”.

“Lass’s got guts, you’ve got to admit,” Bofur added with a impish smile.

“She called him by name too, did you hear that?” Ori wondered out loud.

Things continued on in this manner until the chatter was broken with a deafening, “Shazara!” All eyes turned towards the King under the Mountain where he stood in the doorway. He turned to face Gandalf. “Wizard. Explain the meaning of this.”

Gandalf shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid that my knowledge of the matter is no greater than your own, Thorin Oakenshield. It seems that our unexpected guest is something of a mystery to us all.”

“Well,” Bilbo huffed, not a little unsettled. “That’s all well and fine, but I’ll not have you interrogating her more than you already have. That girl is lost and a guest in my home, the only guest that I invited, in fact, and I’ll not have you adding to her misery.”

Thorin was not satisfied. “There is something strange going on here. That _guest_ , as you call her, already knew my name and our purpose for being here. Who’s to say that that is all she knows? She could pose a risk to our entire venture.”

This supposition caused another outbreak of mumbling among the dwarves. The younger ones, such as Fíli, Kíli, and Ori, looked excited to have such mysterious goings-on happening so early in their adventure. However older, and more suspicious, minds such as Glóin, Óin and Dwalin knew trouble when they saw it, and they set to grumbling distrustfully about wizards and burglars and girls who knew more than they ought. And through it all Balin sat to the side quietly with a troubled countenance.

Gandalf broke through the muttering with a loud THUNK of his staff. “I don’t suppose any of you thought to ask the lady herself?”

This query was met with silence and much eyeing of neighbors. Then a voice broke through the silence.

“I’ll ask her.” 

* * *

 

Gwen hadn’t thought it possible, but she seemed to have gotten herself more lost than she was before. _This smial is a goddamn maze,_ she thought in reluctant amazement. And she still hadn’t found the office. Although she had managed to find the bathroom and good God, these guys were definitely taking this game way too seriously. She felt sympathetic for the maid who was responsible for cleaning that disaster. She didn’t even want to think about the catastrophe that lay in wait for the plumber.

Eventually she found a small sitting room, complete with a comfortable armchair and a roaring fire, and she decided that a well-earned break was in order. She plopped herself down onto the heavy cushions and leaned forward to cradle her head in her hands. She could feel the goose egg from her earlier fall in the ravine throbbing in time with her pulse and worried that a full-on migraine might be in her near future. Her clothes were still damp and her fingers still burned, as though they may never be completely warm again. She wondered idly whether they might have a touch of frostbite, then wondered whether there was even such a thing as “a touch of frostbite.” Probably not.

She sighed heavily and wearily contemplated the flames as they danced in the fireplace. This was supposed to be her vacation. Her getaway from all the usual stresses in her life. She had planned to do nothing besides eat, sleep, read, and explore the countryside for the next few days, savoring her solitude. And now she was stranded, in the company of fifteen men no less. Realistically, she knew that she wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight, not in this weather. She’d just been so upset, and her head had still ached and she’d let her temper get the better of her in a way that hadn’t happened in over ten years. She stared into the flames until her vision began to blur and defocus. God, she just wanted to be home.

A slight scuffing at the door drew her attention away from the fire and her homesickness. On the threshold stood one of the “princes.” What was his name? Kíli? Fíli? The less annoying one.

“Hello, Miss. Fíli, at your service,” he said with a bow.

_Fíli it was then._

“Gwendolyn, at yours,” she returned politely. Silence stretched between them. “Can I offer you an armchair?” she finally said, unable to handle the tension. Fíli-not-Fíli nodded and settled in the matching armchair across from her. She waited patiently for him to speak while trying not to think of their current similarities to an old married couple. She wasn’t as successful as she would have liked.

Since he seemed to have no intention of starting the conversation, she took the quiet lull as an opportunity to surreptitiously study the man, or “dwarf,” next to her. Away from his energetic partner (she still didn’t think they could possibly be actual brothers) he showed his age and maturity a lot more. If she had to guess, she would place him anywhere from three to five years older than her twenty-three years. His hair, which looked too real to be a wig (did he actually grow it out for this?) was held away from his face in a series of small braids, each one tipped with intricate silver beads that glinted in the light of the flames. There were even smaller braids with even smaller beads in his mustache, which she absently thought must be a little uncomfortable. Like his “uncle” he was dressed in a heavy coat with an impressive fur lining. He had serious blue eyes which seemed lit from within as he gazed into the flames. Then his smooth voice jolted her from her musings and she shook herself and said, “I’m sorry, zoned out there for a moment. What did you say?”

He gave her a slightly confused look. “I asked if you often stare at strangers, Miss Gwendolyn.” He hesitated. “What does that mean? _Zoned out_?” He rolled the words around on his tongue as if he were taste testing an expensive wine. Gwen made a point of _not_ looking at his mouth.

She could feel the blush heating up her cheeks and hoped that the low lighting would hide her embarrassment. “Oh, just that I wasn’t paying attention as I should have. And no, usually I am not so rude. It’s been a very long day, I’m afraid.”

He hummed in amusement. “Well, no harm done. Feel free to stare as much as you like. I don’t mind.” He gave her a wink. “I promise not to tell the others.”

Gwen gave a reluctant laugh. “No, I’m sure you don’t mind at all.” She settled back in her chair with a tired sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean to disturb your guys’ scene. If I had another option, I’d go now and leave you all to it. I’m just out of options at the moment.”

Fíli’s brows furrowed. “There, you’re doing it again.”

She turned to face him. “Doing what?” she asked.

“Acting like I know what in Mahal you’re talking about.” He pinned her with a penetrating stare. “You use language that is unfamiliar, talk to all of us as if we are pulling some sort of joke on you, and you knew Uncle’s name before he even introduced himself.”

Gwen shifted uneasily in her seat. This guy was dedicated. For a moment she toyed with the idea that they were all deluded psychopaths and that she was in serious danger of becoming the hysterical blonde in a cult horror flick. She shook the thought off. She’d be able to sense if she was sitting next to a psychopath, wouldn’t she? As it stood, she was running out of ideas for breaking through this “Middle Earth” pretense.

“Look,” she said, “let’s just start simple. What’s your name? Your real one.”

He creased his brow. “I already introduced myself. My name is Fíli.”

Gwen shook her head impatiently. “No, I mean your _real_ name.”

Fíli shook his head in return. “I told you. Fíli.”

“Not the one that everyone here calls you. Your true name. The ones your parents gave you.”

Fili’s gaze immediately became shuttered. “As you are neither family nor my One, you have no right to ask such a thing.”  

She dropped her head into her hands with a groan. “My head hurts too much to deal with this right now.” They descended again into silence, Gwen bent over, head in hands, Fíli watching her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.   

“My uncle thinks you a sorceress,” he said suddenly, studying her reaction closely. “He’s afraid that you mean to bewitch the lot of us because you’ve heard of our quest and wish to have the gold for yourself.”

She chuckled bleakly. “And you, Prince Fíli? Do you believe me after your riches as well?”

He shook his head slowly. “I am unsure of what you desire. You are a confusing dwarrowdam, Miss Gwendolyn.”

That made Gwen sit up with a start. “I am not a dwarf!”

Fíli nodded. “Of course you aren’t. You are obviously a dwarrowdam, despite your… unusual attire. I admit it was a shock to all of us to see a dwarrowdam of your quality so far away from a settlement, especially without an escort. Dori is in danger of having conniptions.”

“I am not a dwarrowdam,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “And I’ll have you know I am of a perfectly average height, thank you very much!”

Fíli looked her over with confusion. “Well, if you are not a dwarrowdam, are you a hobbit then? I admit, we had not considered that due to the size of your feet, but I suppose you may just have dainty feet for a hobbit?” He gave a sly grin. “It’s alright; I think your dainty feet quite adorable.”

Gwen slanted him an unimpressed look. “I am neither a dwarf, nor a hobbit, nor an elf, nor any other exotic creature for that matter! I am a woman. A very _human_ woman.”

“No.” Fíli blinked at her and then leaned over and looked her up and down. “No, you’re way too tiny to be a human. Unless you are a child.”

She growled. “Didn’t you hear me? I said ‘woman.’ As in an adult, fully-grown female human. And I am not tiny!”

Fíli sat back and gave a chuckle. “If you are human then I’m an orc-spawn. No humans are so small as you.”

She could feel her hand twitching with the need to smack that smug grin off his face. This man was the singular most frustrating imbecile she had ever met. Who was he to call her tiny? He couldn’t be more than three inches taller than her. She realized she wasn’t as tall as some women, but to come right out and call her a dwarf? How infuriating!

While she was stewing in the implications of the first cute guy she’d talked with in months calling her a dwarf, Fíli decided to return to the original issue. “You never answered my question, Miss Gwendolyn.”

She snorted. “Oh, you mean to ask whether I am a mystical being imbued with magical powers? How ridiculous. I have as much magic as that doily over there.” She gestured to an end table covered in delicate crocheted lace. “Besides, magic doesn’t exist. Not in the real world. I realize I’ve said this before, but I am getting tired of everyone insisting we are in Middle Earth. It stopped being funny a while ago.”

Fíli gave her another of his penetrating stares, as if she were some kind of fascinating puzzle that he had only just begun to figure out. He cleared his throat. “Then, Miss Gwendolyn, where exactly would you say we are?”

She gave him an incredulous look, as if he were simple. “England, of course. Or the United Kingdom, if you prefer.”

Fíli hmmed in acknowledgement. “And you are from…”

Another incredulous glance. “America. I thought it was pretty obvious from my accent.”

Fíli sighed heavily. “Miss Gwendolyn, those places don’t mean anything to me. I’ve never heard of them.”

Gwen watched him closely for any indication that he was pulling one over on her. His face was set in serious lines, his mouth turned down beneath his braided mustache, his brows wrinkled. But it was his eyes that truly convinced her. They were clear and free from any hint of mischief or malice.  Free from deceit.

She sat back in her chair and raised her trembling hand to cover her eyes. Logically, she considered the possibilities. First, it was possible that Fíli was demented and disconnected from reality. That he actually believed they were in Middle Earth and had lost all knowledge of the real world. But that didn’t explain the others. Could they all have the same delusion? Unlikely. Second, he could be a fantastic liar. But his eyes… No, that wasn’t likely either. Third, this could all be a dream. Or a hallucination. She had hit her head pretty hard when she tumbled into that ravine. But her head was still throbbing like the devil. Could you get headaches in dreams? Could you become tired? And cold? And what would it say about her that her delusions included a smial full of scruffy, frustrating men?

Her head began to swirl even more than it already had as she tried to work through it all. It made no sense that he would have never heard of England or America if he was from her world. She would go so far as to say that it was nigh impossible. But where would she be if she weren’t in her world, her reality? Middle Earth? That was a fictionalized universe created in the mind of a dead British linguist. Emphasis on the _fiction_. The throb inside her skull reached unprecedented levels of agony. She let out a piteous groan of pain and began to shake as a migraine set in. Suddenly she felt the hands over her eyes enveloped in soothing warmth.

“Hey, are you alright?”

_That’s right,_ she thought. _Fíli is still here._ Then a horrible thought occurred to her. _Oh my God. If I am really in Middle Earth, then he really is…_ Gwen let the thought trail off into nothing, unable to handle any more life-changing revelations, at least at the moment. If she thought too hard or long about the fact that she had a dwarven _prince_ (and his hands!) offering her comfort she might have to be committed.

The longer she thought about this entire mess, the more one thing became clear. She gently untangled herself from Fíli (the Crown Prince!)’s hands.

“I need to talk to Gandalf,” she begged him. “Now.”


	3. Confessions of a Bewildered American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwen has a meltdown and Gandalf hands out handkerchiefs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay, readers. First came Thanksgiving, then came Christmas shopping, then came the thrilling tragedy that was BOTFA, then came Christmas, then came New Years. I feel like I have been on an emotional roller coaster all of December. 
> 
> On top of all of that, it took me over two weeks to figure out that I was allergic to our new laundry detergent and even longer to wash enough clothes that I didn't break out in uncontrollable itching every time I put on a pair of pants. All of my relatives thought it was hilarious. I, of course, thought differently. But now I'm comfortable in my own clothes and ready to roll out some new fanfiction goodness! 
> 
> Hope that you all enjoy the new chapter. I promise that the next chapter will come much more quickly. Happy New Year!

After fetching Gandalf and sending him down the corridor to the sitting room that Gwendolyn was still ensconced in, Fíli found himself fending off the rabid curiosity of the entire company. Kíli, of course, pounced on him right away.

“So, Fíli, tell me.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Alone with a dam, chatting by firelight. Was it everything you always dreamed it would be?”

Fíli pushed him away with a grimace. “Leave off!” He turned and sunk his fist into Kíli’s shoulder and his brother dropped with a dramatic groan. “Sometimes I swear you’re still fifty,” he grumbled.

Ori approached him timidly as Fíli stepped over the fallen form of his brother. “What did Miss Gwendolyn say?” Fíli gave a noncommittal shrug.

Dori immediately honed in. “Ori!” he shushed, hands aflutter. “Come, I’ve made a nice pot of chamomile. Leave Prince Fíli alone.” He grabbed Ori by the elbow and attempted to steer him away.

“But Dori,” Ori protested. “I’m the official scribe, I have to know what’s happening if I’m to record it. Besides, I’ve already had enough tea. If I could just—”

Dori dragged him away to a far corner of the kitchen, spouting reprimands and consolations in equal measure over Ori’s very vocal protests.

Soon Fíli found himself pulled into a side council consisting of his uncle, Dwalin, and Balin. Dwalin was watching him, arms crossed, from behind his uncle’s shoulder, planted in his patented “guard-dwarf” stance. Thorin was assessing him carefully from under heavy brows, suspicion still clear in his gaze, but it was Balin who spoke first.

“Well, laddie, what did you discover?” Balin’s deceptively calm and kind expression encouraged full disclosure. It was an expression as deadly and effective as Dwalin’s ominous “guard-dwarf” glare, in its own way.

“How do we know that the sorceress did not enchant Fíli as well?” Thorin surged forward and was caught on the shoulder by Dwalin. “Should we truly have allowed the wizard back there alone with her?”

Balin shot Thorin a quelling glance. “Peace, Thorin. Let us listen to what Fíli has to say before we make any decisions.” He turned back to Fíli. “Go on lad.”

Fíli hesitated before speaking. His talk with Miss Gwendolyn had started out strange and had only become more so as it went on. And while he would never withhold any information from Thorin that could jeopardize the Quest, he had also gotten into trouble with Kíli enough times to know that there were some things often better left unsaid. Such as the Gemstone Chicken Incident of ’22, of which all incriminating evidence was destroyed and solemn oaths made to never speak of again. And while his talk with Gwendolyn was nowhere near as incriminating as the Gemstone Chicken Incident (otherwise known as “It-That-Shall-Not-Be-Spoken-Of-Until-Mahal’s-Halls”), he still hesitated. For Fíli knew that his uncle could be a stern, uncompromising dwarf, that he had had to become so to lead their people out of starvation and even to organize this very Quest.  But while this made his uncle a pillar of strength for the entirety of their people to lean on, it also leeched much of the leniency and understanding from him as well, and no one was in a better place to judge this than Fíli, son of Dís, Crown Prince of the Line of Durin.

And so when Balin prompted him after his extended pause with a “Well, go on, laddie,” Fíli, for reasons unknown, simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “She didn’t have much to say. She spoke sparingly of her origins and purpose. I don’t believe she poses a threat to our venture.” When pressed for more details, he gave a short summation of their conversation, glossing over the light flirtation on his part and the more bizarre commentary on her part. However, based upon the look Balin was giving him there was at least one dwarf who’d caught on to his omissions. But Balin let the matter drop for the moment and Dwalin and Thorin, after giving him an approving thump on the shoulder, went to find Thorin something to eat. Fíli stood watching them go and could only hope that he hadn’t just made an irreparable mistake.     

* * *

 

Having secured assurances from Fíli (the Crown Prince!) that he would send Gandalf to her straight away, Gwen settled deeper in her chair and grappled with both her incumbent migraine and the burgeoning sense of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. Her heart was fluttering erratically in her chest like a caged bird. Every breathe she took rattled in her throat and every time she tried to open her eyes all she could see were blinding white spots that blinked on and off like strobe lights. In a far corner of her mind she registered that this was what most people would classify as a panic attack, but she was powerless to control it.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck,” she chanted under her breath as she ever-so-slightly rocked back and forth in her cozy armchair before the crackling fire.

 _I’m in Middle Earth, holy fuck; I’m in fucking Middle fucking Earth!_ A full body shudder gave pause to her unconscious rocking. _I’m sitting in a Middle Earth armchair. A legitimate hobbit armchair! In an actual hobbit smial!_ Suddenly, another thought struck her, one even more significant than any other since she had realized that Fíli, Crown Prince, was touching her.

_I’m in Bag End! In Bilbo Baggins’ Bag End!_

Her head began to throb from the lack of oxygen. The bright spots in her vision began to be overwhelmed by the encroaching blackness.

“Oh my God, oh my God, _do not faint!_ ” she muttered to herself. And of course that was when Gandalf stepped into the doorway.

“Oh, are you quite alright?” He bent slightly to fit through the doorway and approached where she sat before the fire, pulling a larger sized chair from corners unknown. “I daresay you look a sight paler than when last I saw you, Miss Gwendolyn. Did young Master Fíli upset you to such an extent?”

“Fíli?” she said absently, rapidly blinking her eyes and fighting off encroaching unconsciousness. “No. Well, yes. Maybe. You don’t suppose Fíli is mentally unstable, do you?”

Gandalf’s eyebrows shot straight up. “I gathered that Master Fíli’s mental health is as excellent as any young dwarrow’s, Miss Gwendolyn.”

“Damn, I thought so,” she whispered breathlessly. So much for that theory then. Unless Gandalf was cracked too? No. Best not to get her hopes up. But if not, then…

Gandalf leaned forward and laid a careworn hand upon her own, significantly smaller, one where it was clenched, white-knuckled, on the arm of her chair. “My dear Miss Gwendolyn,” he said softly, “whatever is wrong?”

She stared back at him, wide-eyed. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she whispered back at him just as softly. “I don’t belong here at all.” And she burst into tears. Great, heaving, gasping sobs that filled her aching head with bursts of pain and tore raggedly out of her throat. She sounded like nothing so much as a drowning pig, and was only glad that she had saved these until Fíli had left. She couldn’t take much more embarrassment today.

As for Gandalf, he leaned forward even more, patting her hand consolingly. “I think this calls for a nice pot of tea, don’t you agree?”

Gwen hiccuped and gave a reluctant nod. Gandalf smiled, gave her hand one last pat, and then got to his feet. “Well, I’ll fetch that tea and then you can tell me all about it.”

* * *

 

Fíli was slightly alarmed when Gandalf reappeared after only a few minutes, his countenance grave and Miss Gwendolyn nowhere in sight. Gandalf immediately hurried over to where the hobbit stood in a far corner.

“Bilbo, my good hobbit, do you think that you could make up a hot pot of tea for our guest?” Fíli heard him say quietly.

The hobbit puffed up. “Of course, Gandalf! Never let it be said that a Baggins is anything less than a respectable host.” He hurried to the fire and set about fussing with his dishes. From the opposite side of the kitchen Fíli could see his uncle surreptitiously watching the Halfling with an inscrutable look in his eye while he ate. Fíli wasn’t sure what exactly that look meant, as he had never seen it on his uncle before, but he knew it couldn’t end well for the hobbit. Luckily, Master Baggins was engrossed in his tea preparations and so didn’t notice.  

While momentarily distracted by the hobbit, Fíli soon registered what the wizard had said and was struck by an unexpected, and slightly unwanted, pang of worry for the young dwarrowdam in the sitting room. Or young woman? That entire debate had been slightly confusing. Either way, he barely knew her, and as such shouldn’t be concerned. There were more important things to be focusing on, such as the Quest and the hiring of the Burglar. And making sure that Kíli didn’t make off with the last of the ale, the glutton.

Deciding to put thoughts of strange young women who might or might not be dwarrowdams out of his mind, he set his sights on the barrel of ale that Kíli was attempting to wrestle down the hall from the cellars. With a shout, he pounced on his younger sibling with all the ferocity of a warg pack and the subtlety of Uncle Dwalin on a warpath, to the cheers of many a dwarf. 

* * *

 

Gwen spent the intervening minutes between Gandalf’s departure and his return with the tea service fruitlessly attempting to stem the flow of tears that had been let loose by her admission. Could she have been any more pathetic? Probably completely freaked out that nice old man.

 _Oh yes,_ she thought, _denial is such an attractive look on you._ Because even though she had logically worked it all through and heard the words straight from the ridiculously handsome Prince’s mouth, there was still a large part of her that was convinced this entire farce was a trauma-induced delusion, and that she was out in the woods, unconscious at the bottom of that ravine. It would definitely explain why she couldn’t seem to warm herself up.

And yet part of her knew that this was no delusion. It scared her shitless. When forced to choose between denial and uncontrollable panic, denial won every time. So by the time Gandalf reappeared with the tea service, she had at least gotten the uncontrollable and unattractive sobbing under control, as well as mopped up some of the associated snot. Bilbo was going to have to wash those doilies sometime soon…

Gandalf set the piping hot tea tray on the table between their chairs and began to prepare them both a cup. He looked up at her with the absurdly delicate teacups balanced in his large, weatherworn hands. “Now, normally I am more partial to a glass of red wine myself. However, from the looks of it this is a conversation more suited to a nice, hot cup of chamomile.” He smiled kindly at her. “Sugar?”

Gwen shook her head and gingerly took the cup out of his hands, biting her lip as her still-cold hands came into contact with the overwarm sides of the teacup. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “It was very nice of you to do this.”

“Well most of the thanks go to our host, Master Baggins,” Gandalf said with a grin. “Hobbits are well-known for their hospitality.”

“I know,” she said, and then immediately flushed under Gandalf’s questioning gaze.

“Do you count many hobbits as members of your acquaintance then, Miss Gwendolyn?” he queried.

“Ah, well, no. Not really as such,” she stammered. “I’m just well-read.”

Gandalf hmmed and set about preparing his pipe. “How strange. I wasn’t aware of an abundance of literature concerning hobbits. You must have quite an extensive literary collection, Miss Gwendolyn.” He pinned her with a pointed glance and took the first puff from his pipe. She took another, larger, gulp of tea in an effort to stave off a bout of coughing. Having come from a largely non-smoking upbringing and environment, she found herself quite unused to such extensive indoor smoking. It seemed like everyone in this smial had a pipe. Ugh, men and their tobacco products.

“Well, not really, Mr. Gandalf,” she finally ended up saying.

Gandalf hmmed again and took another puff of his pipe. Gwen focused on the hot cup of tea in her hands, unwilling to meet his gaze. She knew that she was going to have to tell Gandalf _something_. She had just had a meltdown in front of the man. But what, and how much, to tell? And beyond the requisite shoulds and shouldn’ts, still there was that niggling voice that insisted that this all wasn’t real. That Middle Earth was just a fantasy. That she would wake up and find herself back on her vacation, alone, killing time until she had to go back to her real life and her myriad worries and responsibilities.    

 _Ok, one thing at a time,_ she thought. She turned to Gandalf, who was quietly puffing away, pretending not to watch her, and asked, “So, Gandalf, you’re a wizard, right?”

Gandalf dropped the pretense of not watching her and turned fully to face her. “It is true that some might call me that.”

“Uh huh,” she said nervously. “Can you prove it?”

Again, up with the eyebrows. “Can I… prove it?” he asked incredulously. His face formed the beginnings of a frown, and she rushed to cut him off before he could speak.

“Please,” she said, “I am not asking you to turn anybody into a newt or anything. I just… I need to _see_ that you are a wizard. A bone fide, spell casting, possessed-of-magical-powers-that-defy-physics wizard.” She set her teacup down on the table between them and gripped her knees, fighting down the rising panic. “If you could just prove it, I’ll tell you what this is all about. I promise.”

Gandalf considered her for a moment from behind a slight haze of pipe smoke (seriously, what was it with these men and their tobacco products?) and then nodded in agreement. “Very well then, Miss Gwendolyn,” he said. “What would you consider to be… Oh, how did you put it? A demonstration that I am a ‘possessed-of-magical-powers-that-defy-physics’ wizard?” He paused for a moment, measuring her with his solemn gaze, and then blew out another puff of smoke. As the smoke curled up towards the ceiling it coalesced and reformed in the shape of a butterfly, fluttering once around their heads before swooping down into her face, setting off a round of coughing. Gandalf grinned mischievously and she glared at him through her watering eyes.

“That—*cough*— was not very well done of you, you dratted wizard” she choked. Then she froze in realization. She couldn’t think of any _scientific_ way to explain this. And if that was the case then…

“Oh. My. God.” Her mouth dropped open and she looked at Gandalf with wide eyes. “Holy fuck.”

Gandalf choked on his pipe, spluttering and coughing to clear the smoke from his lungs. Gwen flushed.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant to say. I’m just a little shocked is all. Actually, I’m a _lot_ shocked. Like, having-an-out-of-body-experience level of shock. Eff my life kind of shocked. How did this happen? This stuff doesn’t actually happen, especially not to me it doesn’t. I suppose it would be rude of me to ask you to do that again? Oh, yes, what am I thinking? Let’s treat the wizard like a trick pony! Oh my God, how did this—”

Gandalf cut off her panicked rambling. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning, my dear?”

So she did. She told him all about her boring life and her low-key vacation and the storm and her fall. When he questioned her as to how she knew so much of Middle Earth and his companions, she prevaricated, playing off her knowledge as something vague and fairly well-known where she came from. Gandalf wasn’t buying it.

“From what you’ve told me, it seems like this is no mere chance.” Gandalf’s face was grave. “If what you are telling me is true, and I believe it is, only a great power could have brought you here. And with great power comes equally great purpose. You are here for a reason, Gwendolyn, a purpose that only you can fulfill.”

She snorted skeptically and valiantly ignored the accompanying flying snot. “I’m not anyone special, Gandalf, honest,” she said. “I’m just a normal person trying to figure out what I want out of my life. And not doing too good a job of it, either.”

“Then perhaps you’ve found it,” Gandalf said. “Such happenings don’t occur lightly.” He tilted his head towards her, a twinkle in his eye. “And maybe there is even more to this story than you’ve told, hmm?”

Gwen stuttered through a denial and Gandalf observed her with a look of amusement. “Come, my dear. This is hardly my first unexpected adventure.”

Gwen worried her bottom lip between her teeth, indecision warring within her. What to tell? Or, even before that, what to take as truth? Just because most of what she knew about Middle Earth and The Hobbit had so far proven correct didn’t mean that everything Tolkien had written was true. Case in point, the sheer size of everyone here. In her opinion, a man the height of Thorin Oakenshield could in no way, shape, or form be called a _dwarf_. Well, except when compared with someone the size of Gandalf that was. And this meant that everyone she met would think _she_ was a dwarf as well!

 _Not really the time for this,_ she thought to herself. _Pull it together!_

So what was she to believe, and what to not? What to guarantee and what to vaguely hint at? There was so much that would be changed simply by her presence. Would Gandalf still make the same decisions if he knew everything she knew? If she chose to tell no one, she was still brought here for a reason. Maybe she was supposed to change things? But what if she screwed everything up and got everyone killed? Who was she supposed to save? Who was she even _able_ to save?

If she remembered correctly (and she wasn’t completely positive that she was remembering correctly, especially given how scrambled her brains felt at the moment), as far as the big picture was concerned everything came out alright in the end. Smaug was destroyed, Erebor became a stronghold of the North, the race of Men triumphed over the evil of Sauron, Aragorn became King of Gondor, and the Ring was destroyed. An Age of Peace spread throughout the lands. What, of all of that, was she supposed to be changing? Did she even really know that all of this would come to pass? As nice as it would be to think that she was here in the interest of the individual, in the interest of those who might not survive to the end of this journey, she was too much the skeptic to believe that was how all of this really worked. People, good people, would rise and fall, but all that truly mattered was that their kingdoms and their people remained standing. And sometimes even that wasn’t quite true. Just look at the Elves. So what if Thorin, and Kíli, and… and Fíli… would die at the end of this Quest? What did the Powers That Be care that such bright and lovely (well, perhaps surly, in Thorin’s case) souls would be snuffed out? In the end, all that mattered was Erebor, and the fate of Middle Earth. What were a few dwarves in comparison to the fate of all of Arda?

She didn’t even realize that she had begun crying again until Gandalf was handing her a small handkerchief from the drawer in the side cabinet. This probably would have been helpful to know earlier before she defiled Bilbo’s lovely doilies. She grabbed it with a trembling hand, dotting frantically at her eyes while attempting to sneakily wipe her running nose without attracting Gandalf’s notice. Gandalf was kind enough to let her believe she had succeeded.

“I often find that when heavy thoughts weigh on my mind,” Gandalf said sympathetically, “it helps to have someone to share them with.”

“What if your thoughts are beyond heavy?” she whispered fearfully. “What if your thoughts are mountainous, such monumental, crushing, immovable, dangerous thoughts that their collapse could bury you fathoms deep, without a chance of ever seeing the light again? And what if those thoughts are capable of not only crushing you, but everyone you have ever known, or ever could know, or even have no chance of ever knowing? How do you live with the fear of that mountain crumbling down on top of you?”

Gandalf considered her for a moment, and then said, “Well, my dear, it sounds to me as though you need the assistance of a dwarf.” Gwen gave a half-hearted chuckle and Gandalf smiled approvingly. “However, I’m afraid you only have a wizard for the time being.”

Gwen took a steadying breath, and let it out with a shiver. “And if I tell you I know the outcome of this Quest?” She lifted her head to meet his wizened gaze. “That I know who will live and who will not, that I know all the trials they will face and the far-reaching consequences their actions will have? What then, Gandalf? What would you have me do then?” She wrung her fingers together nervously, looking beseechingly at Gandalf. “I don’t think I am the right person for this Gandalf. I’m no one special. I come from a completely different world. How am I supposed to save something when I don’t even know what or who I am supposed to be saving?”

“And you are sure that what you know is indeed truth?” he asked gravely. “How can you know that all these things you allude to will come to pass?”

“I don’t,” she said. “I have no way of knowing that any of it is true. But what I do know is this. I know you are Gandalf, the Grey Pilgrim, also known as Olórin, who apprenticed under the Valië Nienna. I know that you were one of five sent here to Middle Earth, along with Radagast the Brown and Saruman the White. I know that out there in that kitchen is the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, along with the soon-to-be Burglar Bilbo Baggins, one gentlehobbit of the Shire. I know of Bifur and Bofur and Bombur, of Nori and Dori and Ori, of Óin and Glóin, Dwalin and Balin, F-fíli and Kíli. I know that this Company is setting out to reclaim Erebor from Smaug the Terrible. That no one from the Iron Hills will help. That Bilbo will faint at mention of the dragon. I know of the Arkenstone. And I know that unless I do something, this Company will not emerge from this Quest whole.”

Gandalf seemed shocked at her speech. She wasn’t sure if it was that she knew so much of him or simply the length of her recitation, but she had finally managed to shock him speechless. It seemed there was a first time for everything.

In the end, Gandalf merely shook his head and got to his feet. “Well, my dear,” he said, “it seems that you at least believe everything you say to be true. Let us go and rejoin the others. If it truly was the will of the Valar that brought you here, as I believe it was, then your purpose will be revealed in time. For now, I believe we must do everything in our power to bring you along on this Quest.”

“That’s it?” she asked dubiously as he walked to the entryway. “That’s all you have to say, after all of that?”

“Oh no, you misunderstand Miss Gwendolyn.” Gandalf turned back from his place in the doorway. “Changing the mind of Thorin Oakenshield will be no small thing.” And then he swept out of the sitting room, leaving her in her armchair with her mouth gaping open.

“Wizards.”


	4. A Meeting of the Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Company is convened, a key is presented, a contract is offered, and Gwendolyn's speech-making tendencies raise quite a few questions for Fíli, along with some annoyances for Thorin as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day! Hope that you are all enjoying a day off. 
> 
> For this chapter, I borrowed heavily from the movie script from An Unexpected Journey. However, I hope that I added enough Fíli commentary that it didn't seem boring or repetitive. 
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments and reviews. I am so glad that you are all enjoying this work!

Fíli had consumed quite a bit of ale by the time Tharkûn had resurfaced from the sitting room, Gwendolyn at his heels. As he and Kíli had made their very best efforts to drink their way through the hobbit’s cellars, Uncle, Dwalin, and Balin had sequestered themselves at the far end of the dining table, heads bent together and grim looks on their faces. The arrival of the wizard drew their attention, as did the reappearance of Gwendolyn, and Fíli could see Thorin’s scowl deepen from all the way across the room. He nudged Kíli from where he was, unwisely, getting into a drinking game with Bofur and tilted his head towards the table where Gandalf, Thorin, and the others were all sitting. It seemed it was time for the serious discussion of the Quest to begin.

As he settled down at the far end of the table next to Kíli, Fíli looked around at the dwarves that comprised their Company. Across the table sat the Ri brothers, Dori, Nori, and Ori. Fíli wasn’t very familiar with them as a family, but him and Kíli were good friends with Ori, and had spent many years running around Ered Luin with him, dragging him into all kinds of trouble. At the end of the table sat Bombur, a quiet dwarf whose love of food was legendary in Thorin’s Halls. His cousin Bifur sat on Fíli’s other side and his brother Bofur had claimed a spot down at Thorin’s end of the table. Next to Bifur sat Óin and Dwalin, both distant cousins in the House of Durin, and across from them sat their brothers Glóin and Balin. All together they made twelve that had answered Thorin’s call.  

“So tell me,” Balin said when everyone had settled, “what news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?”

“Aye,” Thorin said, “envoys from all seven kingdoms.” The Company voiced their approval with grins and pleased murmurs until Dwalin’s rough voice broke through them.

“And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?” The voices of the Company quieted as Dwalin leaned forward on his forearms intently. “Is Dáin with us?”

Thorin paused heavily for a moment and drew in a deep breath before looking up from his plate. “They will not come,” he gravely intoned. “They say this Quest is ours and ours alone.”

At the other end of the table Fíli traded concerned glances with Kíli. Although neither of them had spent much time with Dáin, they had heard plenty of stories from their mum, as well as from Dwalin and Uncle Thorin. While Dáin could be obstinate and belligerent, he was loyal to a fault. If Dáin said he would not come, it was not through any design of his. The courtiers of the Iron Hills were known to be a quarrelsome, self-interested lot, and much was said in the look that Uncle Thorin laid on Dwalin as he spoke. “Our Quest alone” indeed. Bloody perfumed anvil droppers. 

Then he heard the tentative, inquisitive tones of the hobbit. “You’re going on a Quest?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” drawled Gwendolyn from where she stood propped against the wall near the doorway. “Haven’t you heard? These dwarves—all thirteen of them—are off to—”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf interrupted, turning to frown at Gwendolyn. “My dear fellow let us have a little more light.” He pinned Gwendolyn with a glare. She in turn snorted softly, but said nothing, blithely ignoring the ferocious glares that Thorin and Dwalin had turned upon her. Fíli envied Gwendolyn her equanimity. Whenever Thorin or Dwalin looked at Kíli and him with such an expression, they immediately made themselves scarce. She was either immensely brave or immensely stupid. Going by the way that Thorin’s eyebrow was beginning to tick, Fíli was leaning towards the latter.

Gandalf cleared his throat pointedly and Dwalin and Thorin turned back to the table to where Gandalf was laying out a weathered map. “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

Bilbo leaned over and read from the map. “The Lonely Mountain.”

“Aye,” came the gruff rejoinder from Glóin. “Óin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time.” He settled back into his chair with a self-satisfied huff as Óin took the floor. Dori looked away with an eye roll.

Óin and Glóin were part Firebeard, and their line was known for their Gifts. Although Glóin didn’t possess a drop of the Gift himself, his brother Óin was rumored to be a different matter, and Glóin was steadfast in his promotion and defense of his brother’s Gift. And while no dwarf would deny the validity of Óin’s talents, there were many in Ered Luin, especially of the Longbeards, who were not as confident in their importance as Glóin and his brother were. As for himself, Fíli always strove to remain impartial. An Heir of Durin didn’t have the luxury of easily dismissing the deep-rooted traditions of their people, as some did.

“Ravens have been seen coming back to the mountain, as it was foretold,” Óin intoned gravely, looking to meet every dwarf’s eye. “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the Beast will end.”

A slight scuffling came from the direction of the pantry and the hobbit came to the doorway. He shifted slightly. “Umm, what Beast?”

“Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible,” Bofur replied with his pipe between his teeth and a twinkle in his eye. “Chiefest and Greatest Calamity of our Age.” Fíli noticed Gandalf giving Bofur a dour look from across the table, and caught a slight snort from where Gwendolyn was propped against the doorway. Looking her way he caught her eye for a second and found himself suppressing a grin at the wry spark in her eyes. He turned back just as Bofur was saying something about meat hooks and razors.

Bilbo interrupted with an indignant, “Yes, I know what a dragon is!” Again Fíli caught Gwendolyn’s eye and found himself muffling a snort of amusement.

Across the table, Ori leapt to his feet. “I’m not afraid,” his high voice chirped. “I’m up for it! I’ll give him a taste of dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!” The table broke out in agreement and Dori pulled on Ori’s arm hissing “sit down!” until the young dwarf landed back in his seat. 

From the doorway came a spurt of hastily-muffled tinkling laughter, and the dwarves, Gandalf, and Bilbo turned to Gwendolyn, who shook her head and mumbled, “Sorry, sorry,” from behind her hands until the dwarves turned back to the table and Balin spoke again.

“This task would be difficult with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best… nor brightest,” he added, with a lift of his brows.

“Here, who you calling dim?” Nori called out as arguments erupted up and down the table. He shared a knowing glance with Kíli before calling out loudly over the din.

“We may be few in number,” he declared, “but we’re fighters. All of us. To the last dwarf!” He banged his hand on the table for emphasis and Kíli chimed in.

“And you forget we have a wizard in our Company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.” Kíli turned to look down the table with the confident smile that had made many a dwarrowdam look past his lack of beard. Although from the bemused look on Gwendolyn’s face there was at least one dwarrowdam that wasn’t quite so impressed. Fíli felt the heat of a slight blush unwillingly color his cheeks. Luckily, the attention had been shifted away from him and Kíli as all the dwarves focused on Gandalf, who was looking a mite uncomfortable.

“Well, well, no, I wouldn’t say—” Gandalf hedged.

“How many then?” Dori asked. Gandalf paused and Dori closed in with all the skill and finesse of a well-practiced mother hen. “How many dragons have you killed?” Silence fell over the table and Gandalf began to quietly cough, smoke curling from his lips as Dori demanded, “Go on, give us a number!”

Chaos broke out up and down the table. Alongside him, Bifur and Dwalin had stood up to quarrel with Dori and Nori, Bifur’s fists ineffectually striking the air. Fíli raised his voice with a few, unnoticed, “Hey”s and “Come now”s in an attempt to calm everyone down before Thorin stood up at the end of the table and silenced everyone with a roar of “Shazara!” The Company settled quietly back in their seats and Thorin began to speak.

“If we have read these signs do you not think others will have read them too?” Thorin’s face took on a dark glower. “Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look to the East to the Mountain, wondering, assessing, weighing the risk.” He let his gaze roam while speaking in order to encompass every dwarf at the table. “Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?!” Thorin leaned forward, fist clenched, eyes glittering, displaying the intoxicating charisma that had made him the Heir of Durin after the bloody Battle of Azanulbizar at the young age of 53. “Du bekar!” he bellowed amidst the approving roars of the other dwarves. Fíli could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the excitement of it, the _rightness_ of it. They were going to take back Erebor!

Balin’s voice rose over the cheers. “You forget the front gate is sealed!” He said. “There is no way into the mountain.”

There came a slight throat-clearing from the wizard. “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”  He spun a heavy dwarven key up from the depths of his robes and through his fingers, turning it back and forth in demonstration to the Company.

“How come you by this?” Thorin questioned, a tad hoarsely.

“It was given to me by your father, Thráin, for safekeeping. Tis yours now.” He handed it over to Thorin.

Fíli’s mind spun in disbelief. A key and a map? Mahal must surely be smiling upon their Quest. And where there were keys, there were doors of which to open with them.

He didn’t realize that he had spoken something so obvious aloud until Gandalf gave him a cursory nod and then continued on to expound upon the hidden door indicated on the map. He could feel a slight burn on the tips of his ears. Could he sound any more like a green dwarfling? He stewed about it until Kíli clasped him on the shoulder and chuckled, “There’s another way in,” with a grin. Well, at least he wasn’t the only idiot at the table. Mahal bless younger siblings. Fíli tuned back in to what Gandalf was saying.

“Well if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed.” He shook his head. “The answer lies somewhere hidden in this map, but I do not have the skill to find it. But, there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage.” Here he shot a glance to where the hobbit was standing in the shadows next to Gwendolyn. “But,” he said, turning back to the table, “if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done.”

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Ori exclaimed from across the table.

“Hmm, and a good one too!” the hobbit said. “An expert, I’d imagine!’ He rocked back on his heels, threading his thumbs under his suspenders, and gave a sharp nod.

“And are you?” queried Óin. Fíli leaned forward intently, knowing they were about to get down to the hiring of the Burglar. He felt a small moment of doubt. This hobbit didn’t look to be much of a burglar. Although, maybe that was simply an indication of his prowess. The ability to make himself seem entirely unlike a burglar.

The hobbit looked up at the silence after Óin’s question and then looked back over his shoulder. “Am I what?”

That wasn’t reassuring.

Óin, of course, completely misheard him. “He said he’s an expert!” Óin declared.

“Me? No, no, I’m not a burglar!” the hobbit exclaimed. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!” Fíli exchanged glances with Kíli and raised his eyebrow. After a short staring contest Kíli handed over his coin with a grumble. Just because they were in business negotiations didn’t mean he couldn’t make some extra coin on the side. Besides, as Kíli’s older brother it was his fraternal duty to fleece his younger brother every once and awhile; just to keep him from becoming too smug, of course.

“I’m afraid I’d have to agree with Mr. Baggins,” Balin concurred. “He’s hardly burglar material.” The hobbit made affirming noises and nodded his head.

“Aye,” Dwalin growled in agreement. “The Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” The table broke out in argument again, and Fíli watched Ori and Dori across the table as they fought about whether or not Ori was going, or even able, to fight. As with most things, Dori was slowly gaining the upper hand. He turned down the table in time to see the wizard begin to rise from his seat, only to be stopped by the hesitant hand that appeared on his shoulder. From behind the wizard emerged Gwendolyn, looking nervous and pale, though determined, and Tharkûn and her shared a significant look before the wizard once more claimed his seat. He saw his uncle observing them with narrowing eyes.

Amid the cacophony of the arguing dwarves Gwendolyn stepped up to the table. Besides Fíli, Thorin, and Tharkûn, none of the dwarves had taken any notice of her. She ineffectually called, “Excuse me!” a few times before a peeved look developed on her face. She held a finger up in the air before disappearing through the doorway. Fíli watched his uncle’s face darken and the wizard begin to rise from his chair again, only to pause when Gwendolyn reappeared in the doorway. Was that a frying pan?

BANG! The discord around the table abruptly broke out in outraged exclamations. CLANG! All the dwarves turned to where Gwendolyn stood with a ladle in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

“If you are all quite finished?” She raised a hand, and an eyebrow, to forestall all the incipient protests. “No, I think this has gone on for quite long enough,” she said in a prim and proper voice that reminded Fíli of his mum when she was incredibly angry. He suppressed a shiver of foreboding.

“If Gandalf the Grey says Bilbo Baggins is a burglar then a burglar he is,” she announced. She turned and gave Gandalf a wink. Fíli didn’t think he had ever seen the wizard look so flummoxed. She then turned serious eyes to where Dwalin sat. “I understand your concerns and I agree. They are well-founded. Hobbits are soft and gentle creatures who don’t have much reason to venture far from their homeland. But this Company doesn’t need Mr. Baggins to transform into a warrior. That’s what all you dwarves are for. What you need is a burglar, and that is something for which hobbits are eminently suited. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet and able to pass unnoticed by most, if they so choose. And because of the fact that they never leave the Shire, it is almost guaranteed that Smaug will have neither smelled nor seen hobbit kind before, a significant advantage over Smaug’s familiarity with the smell of dwarf.”

She paused and glanced solemnly around at everyone seated at the table. “I know that Bilbo doesn’t have much experience. But I believe he has the potential to make an excellent burglar.” She looked over at Bilbo where he was watching her open-mouthed. “One of the very best,” she said with a small smile.

Thorin pushed sharply back from the table and got to his feet. “And what do you know of such matters?” he said with a sneer. “You, an insignificant dwarrowdam who should be back at home, and not wandering alone by yourself in the Wilds.”

 _Uh oh,_ Fíli thought to himself as he watched Gwendolyn’s expression. _Now you stepped in it, Uncle._

“What did you just call me?” she murmured quietly. Fíli saw her eyes glint dangerously. “Did you just call me a dwarf?”

Thorin sneered at her again. “How simple can you be? Go back home, you foolish dam.” He turned back to the table, dismissing her. Fíli breathed out a sigh of relief that soon was strangled in his throat when Gwendolyn’s arm shot out and her hand latched on Thorin’s arm. Dwalin began to rise from his seat, only to be halted by a motion from Tharkûn.

“Listen here, you blockhead!” The Company simultaneously gasped in horror. Dori looked ready to faint in mortification. Dwalin’s scowl was reaching critical levels. Balin’s face was watchful but indecipherable.

“First of all, I am not—” Gwendolyn paused and her mouth twisted. “Just because I am a… _dam_ ,” she ground out from between her teeth, “does not mean that you can dismiss me so quickly. I am here, on my own, for a reason. Among my people I am unusual, known to see things that others cannot and to know things that may come to pass. I came here, to Bag End, because I knew that you were going to be setting out on your Quest.”

Thorin turned to face her and Gwendolyn hastily dropped her hand and shuffled back a step. “You have had visions of our Quest?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I have indeed.” She licked her lips nervously and squared her shoulders. “And I knew that I must come with you. Otherwise, I fear for the success of this Quest.”

Thorin regarded her seriously. Fíli knew of those from among their people who were said to have the Gift, able to know things beyond the norm, who read the signs from the world around them. And while Fíli knew that Thorin was among the more skeptical of their kin when it came to such abilities, as King he was also unable to disregard them entirely. Óin’s presence on the Quest was partially for just such a reason, despite his old age. Yes, he volunteered and was a passable medic, but he was also a representative of those among their people who gave credence to that method of knowing. For Thorin to completely dismiss a claim of true seeing would be a political disaster, especially with Glóin and Óin’s attendance.

However, Gwendolyn’s claim far surpassed Óin’s abilities. To actually be able to see the future! Such a talent would be invaluable for their Quest. And maybe Fíli would have bought into it, like many of the more impressionable dwarves such as Ori, Kíli, and Bofur seemed to be doing, if he didn’t remember his earlier discussion with Gwendolyn. A girl who took offense merely at being referred to as a dam and disbelieving the existence of magic now claiming to be able to see into the future? Something was not right. Especially when the wizard was staying out of it and watching from the sidelines. Something was going on, and Fíli was going to find out what it was.

“And you visions have shown you of Bilbo Baggins as well, I suppose?” Thorin probed suspiciously.

“Yes,” she said firmly, her voice suddenly filled with steely determination. “Bilbo Baggins is essential. Even more so than myself.”

“Very well then,” Thorin said. “Balin, give him the contract.” Balin ruffled around in his robes before handing Thorin the thick scroll that constituted the Burglar’s contract. “And you, wizard?” Thorin turned to Gandalf. “Do you have anything to say about this?”

Gandalf sat back in his chair looking noticeably nonchalant. “Miss Gwendolyn seems to have covered all the relevant matters at hand,” he said peaceably. “I could hardly have said it better myself.” Here he slanted a knowing glance at Gwendolyn that Fíli didn’t miss.

Thorin leaned his head in private conference with Tharkûn as he regained his seat. The hobbit had taken the contract back into the hallway, muttering under his breath as he read it, while Gwendolyn had retreated to her position against the wall, avoiding meeting anyone’s eye.

Fíli got to his feet. It was time for him and Gwendolyn to have another chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I don't make any mention of how I come up with the titles for these chapters (partly because the first couple were so face-smackingly obvious), but this one fit so well that I couldn't help pointing it out. 
> 
> The title comes from the phrase "Meeting of the minds," which, according to Wikipedia, is a phrase in contract law used to refer to and describe the intentions of the gathered parties to form the contract. In particular it references a situation where there is a common understanding in the formation of the contract. Which I found delightfully ironic considering Bilbo's complete obliviousness about this entire thing.
> 
> So yes, there is some geeky trivia for you all on this fine Monday morning. :)


	5. Call Me Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fíli and Gwendolyn have a nice, sexual tension-filled chat, and Gwendolyn wins herself an ally within the Company.

_Oh goodness,_ Gwen thought to herself as she half-collapsed against the wall and tried desperately to stay out of sight. She buried her hands deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt in an attempt to stop their trembling. Sadly nothing could be done about her gelatinous knees, and she braced herself even more firmly against the wall in an attempt to keep from collapsing into a heap. That had to be one of the most foolhardy things she had ever done. Had she actually called Thorin Oakenshield, Heir of Durin, a _blockhead?!_ Did she want to end up in a pine box? What kind of idiot was _she_ to go poking the well-armed, deadly, decidedly grumpy, and suspicious bear with a stick?

Through her measured breathing she absently noted that Bofur was talking again. She was startled out of her thoughts by a muted THUD. Peering around the corner of the wall she was propped up against she saw Bilbo passed out on a rug in the middle of the hallway.

 _Really?_ She thought with disbelief. _You make it through all that ruckus and now is when you go ahead and faint?_

From behind her she heard Gandalf’s gruff, “Very helpful, Bofur.” Then she jumped straight in the air as a strong, warm hand closed around her elbow. A low voice murmured in her ear.

“Come now, my dear _dwarrowdam_. Let’s have a talk, shall we?” She tautly nodded her head and let Fíli lead her out of the room while Gandalf was arranging to have Bilbo moved from the middle of the hallway.

She twisted her head to look at Fíli and ended up with her nose stuck in his beard just beneath his chin. “And I suppose you know where you are going then?” She asked sarcastically.

Fíli gave her a narrow-eyed glance and tightened his grip on her elbow until she turned to face forwards again. They walked in silence for a few moments, drawing farther away from the sounds of the Company until Fíli apparently found an acceptable side room and steered her into it.  

She stumbled inside the room and looked around while Fíli shut the door behind them. From the looks of it, this was one of Bag End’s many guest bedrooms. The space was primarily occupied by a well-constructed queen sized bed and a large window that overlooked the back garden. The furniture in the room all seemed to be well-worn but of good quality, and when she looked at the bed it just reminded her of how long it had been since she last slept. However, now wasn’t the time for a nap, especially considering the angry dwarven warrior that was blocking the only exit. She reluctantly turned to face Fíli where he stood barring the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Want to tell me what that was out there?” He asked angrily.

Gwen gave a casual shrug. “I was under the impression that you were hiring your Burglar,” she said lightly, not quite meeting his eyes.

Fíli pushed away from the door brusquely and strode across the room, pushing her backwards until the backs of her knees knocked against the footboard of the bed.

“Don’t. Play. Games. With. Me.” He growled.

She gulped nervously and reached behind herself to curl her fingers around the footboard for support. “Well, if you would actually ask a clear question, maybe I’d be able to help you, _Prince_ Fíli.”

The reminder of his title made him take a couple of steps back, but he was still very much in her personal space. There was just so _much_ of him! Up close she could smell hints of leather and the tang of steel overlaying a muskier, earthy scent. She reminded herself that it was very bad manners to sniff strangers, especially one as angry as Fíli seemed to be right now.

He regained her attention when he shook his head in frustration. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll try to make it clearer then. What was that little performance you put on out there all about? Last time I checked, you were an ‘adult, fully-grown, female human.’ Want to tell me why that changed in the past half hour?”

Gwen cast about for a plausible answer that would explain her sudden change of heart when it came to embracing her inner dwarf. Sadly, nothing witty and inspired came to mind, so all that ended up coming out was, “Hmm, uh, well, you see…” And then she trailed off into nothing. She found she was quite out of words for the night.

Fíli, however, soon grew impatient with her uncommunicative silence. “I’m afraid that I don’t see, Miss Gwendolyn. That is why we are here. Now earlier I decided not to mention some of your more bizarre notions from our discussion before to my uncle. However, if you have nothing more to say then I’m sure you won’t mind if I go and have a conversation with Thorin. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He turned back towards the door to go find Thorin and Gwen panicked. Her hand shot out and latched onto his arm and she stared at it in horror. What was wrong with her today? But it was too late to back out now, so when Fíli turned to glare at her she swallowed her trepidation and said shakily, “What was it you wanted to know?”

Fíli fully turned back around to face her and she found him much too close for comfort once again. “To begin, I want to know why you told everyone out there you are a dwarrowdam when before you almost had my jewels for even suggesting such a thing.”

Gwen shifted in place uneasily. “Ah, yes, well. You see, after our little encounter earlier, I realized that the whole I’m-not-a-dwarrowdam thing was going to be a bit of a hard sell. And what with Thorin being such a…” She caught Fíli’s pointed look. “An upstanding and respectable gentledwarf,” she said with emphasis, “it would be easier, and I would seem more credible, if they all believed me to be a dwarrowdam rather than a woman.”

“And are these supposed visions of yours also a fabrication for your convenience?” He asked with a significant amount of heat in his voice. 

Here her face adopted the same grave expression that she had worn during her recommendation of the Burglar. “No, that was no fabrication. You would be wise to not dismiss my claims, Fíli.”

“What is it you know?” He questioned intently. His serious blue eyes bore into hers and she became intensely aware that she hadn’t removed her hand from his arm. She gingerly lifted her hand and folded her arms defensively across her chest, trying to control the recurrent shivers that surfaced as her adrenaline rush wore off.

“I know a lot of things,” she whispered. “And I can’t tell you what they all are. I’m sorry, Fíli.”

Fíli clenched his jaw in agitation and ground out, “Then why are you even here, Gwendolyn?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out, feeling the tears begin to well up involuntarily behind her eyes once again. “But I don’t know how to get back.”

“What do you mean?” Fíli asked.

“I’m not from here, Fíli,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, a tad impatiently. “You already implied as much to the entire Company with your little speech out there.” He gestured impatiently with his hand back towards the way they came.

Gwen frantically shook her head. “No, Fíli, that’s not what I meant.” She inhaled deeply and let it out with a shudder. “I mean that I…” She paused for a moment, indecision coursing through her, and then blurted out in a rush, “I’m not from Middle Earth!”

She anxiously watched his face for any hint of a reaction, but it had settled into impassivity. For a few moments she waited expectantly, bracing herself for an explosion of some sorts, so when Fíli suddenly shook his head and gave a snort she was understandably puzzled.

“What?” She demanded. “What is so goddamn funny?”

“I should have known,” he murmured absently to himself. “Should have known you were a few facets short of Mahal’s cut.”

“I’m a few what short of what?” She asked, confused. What was she supposed to be cutting, exactly?

Fíli sighed. “I simply mean to say that I should have known from our earlier conversation that your geode is cracked.” He raised an eyebrow at her perplexed expression. “You’re a few stones short of a full load? Not the sharpest mattock in the mine? Not the brightest gem in the setting?”

Her eyes widened in realization. “Are you calling me crazy?” She screeched. “I am not insane, you asshole!” She slugged him in the arm, distantly aware that she had probably initiated too much uninvited contact with the Line of Durin for one day but too enraged to give much of a damn. Something about him pushed every one of her buttons.

“Pardon me,” he growled, “but I am not the one that claimed to know the future of, but conveniently not originate from, Middle Earth!”

“Just because you have never heard of it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!” Gwen hissed in exasperation. “Besides, you are the one who started all of this! I was perfectly fine with—”

“With what?” Fíli interrupted. “With lying to the entire Company? To my King?”

“Yes!” She exploded. “Yes, alright?!” Gwen made herself take a deep breath to calm herself down, knowing that more yelling was going to get her nowhere fast. It was just so damn _hard._ Never had she met a more infuriating man. Dwarf. Whatever.

She made herself look him directly in the eyes, desperate for him to see the truth of her words. “I am willing to lie, to mislead, to pretend to be whoever I need to if it means that I will be allowed to accompany you on this Quest and make you all listen to what I have to say.”

At that moment she was struck by how much she actually meant what she was saying. Since coming to Bag End she had been frustrated, confused, infuriated, and miserable by turns, but it suddenly struck her how intensely frightened she was. She was in a strange land, with strange people, and she had no way to know if she would ever be able to return home. She had never felt more alone and adrift in her entire life. So much was uncertain, and she found herself latching on to the one thing that she felt certain of, that was within her power to change. The Quest for Erebor represented a precious opportunity to regain some control over her fate. And who knew? Maybe this was the reason why she had been brought here in the first place. She knew with immovable certainty that if she was left behind in the Shire while the Company left on their Quest that she would lose any sense of purpose left in her. The thought of spending the remainder of her days, however many they may be, drifting and abandoned in Middle Earth terrified her to her core. Again she fought the advent of tears.

Gwen couldn’t be sure exactly what leaked into her expression as she held Fíli’s gaze, but whatever it was cooled his anger in an instant. He raised a hand to her shivering shoulder almost as if he was unable to help himself. As his large, warm, calloused hand made contact with her grungy college sweatshirt she felt her muscles begin to involuntarily relax. Infuriating he might be, but he also had the ability to calm her like no other man in her life ever had. She pushed the instinctive fear that thought inspired to the back of her mind. She had experienced enough fear and strife for one day. Right now she craved comfort and couldn’t find the strength within her to be disturbed by its source.

“You may be strange,” Fíli said softly, “and perhaps you are crazy as well, but I find you to be determined and stubborn all the same. Are you quite sure you are not a dwarrowdam?” He gave her a wry smile, and it drew a small, watery chuckle from her. She felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as he slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth on her shoulder. She had to wonder if the motion was conscious or not. She firmly ignored the way it made her want to purr and arch beneath his touch like some kind of house cat. Oh, it was all just too much.

She quietly cleared her throat and stepped back until her legs were flush against the footboard and his hand dropped from her shoulder. “What are you going to do now then?” She asked softly. “Will you tell Thorin of me?”

“And what is it that I would be telling him?” Fíli questioned. “That you are a ridiculously short human woman from beyond Middle Earth?”

“What is it going to take for you to believe me?” Gwen demanded with a scowl. “I thought that my general ineptitude and ignorance would be enough proof for you.”

“I assumed that those were simply personal characteristics,” he said with a wicked smile. “I hardly think it proof of you purported otherworldliness.”

She let out an unintentional growl of frustration that only made him smile wider. She cast her mind around for suitable proof. Then inspiration struck her and she began to wrestle her sweatshirt off. Fíli’s eyes widened comically, and he let out a choked sound of protest. “What?” She demanded with her arms tangled up in her sweatshirt as she disentangled it from the shirt underneath. She frowned in realization and snapped out, “Oh, keep your pants on!” She pulled the sweatshirt off over her head and grumbled under her breath.   

“I will ‘keep my pants on,’ as you say,” Fíli said stiffly. “I can only ask that you do that same.”

“Well I was planning to!” She gasped in indignation. “That’s just an expression, geez!” She held the sweatshirt out to him. “Now look at the stitching and the tags and the material of this and tell me that it is possible to find anything like it in Middle Earth!” She shook the offered sweatshirt pointedly when Fíli only observed her with a perplexed expression and continued to do so until he took the article of clothing.

She watched with satisfaction as Fíli explored her sweatshirt with curious hands. She shivered as her bare arms began to register the temperature of a home that wasn’t warmed by a central heating system and shoved her hands in her pockets in an attempt to retain the warmth in her extremities. She gave a start of surprise as her left hand bumped into her cell phone where it lay, forgotten, in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked it over, amazed at the lack of cracks in the screen.  Its low light blinked on as she pressed the buttons.

The light drew Fíli’s attention away from his inspection of her sweatshirt and he gasped in amazement. “What is this new magic?”

She looked up from her inspection of her phone, which sadly still had no service. “Magic?” She asked blankly. “Oh, no, this isn’t magic. This is technology from my world. It’s a cell phone, a communication device.”

“Technology?” Fíli queried with a puzzled expression.

“Oh, it’s… It’s another method of communication, like letters. The cell phone, I mean. Technology is like advanced use of tools. Like more precise bows and new mining techniques. The technology in my world is so far advanced that it has become compact and handheld, in most cases.” She paused uncomfortably. “Oh dear, this isn’t making any sense at all is it?”

Fíli furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand what that small, shining block has to do with mining and archery.”

“Oh, it doesn’t!” She said. “I was just trying to explain what technology was and not very well, apparently.” She held up the phone. “This is used to talk with people that are far away. You can also send text messages, which are like short letters. Here,” she said as she handed him the phone. “Would you like to look at it?”

Fíli nodded and took the phone in his hands gingerly. Gwen took back her sweatshirt and quickly pulled it back on in relief. Without a fire going this smial was surprisingly chilly. She really needed to find more clothes and a bath at some point though, because based upon the whiff she had gotten as she pulled her sweatshirt on she was beginning to stink quite badly.

Fíli looked up from his exploration of her cell phone. “How does it talk to other people?”

“Oh, that only works when it’s in service,” she said apologetically. “It won’t work in Middle Earth. However, it has some other features that you might like.” She took the phone back and fiddled with it for a moment before extending it towards Fíli. “Say something,” she prompted eagerly.

“What am I supposed to be saying?” He asked dubiously.

“Anything you want,” she replied.

“I see,” he mused. After some thought he said with a grin, “Gwendolyn has dainty Elf feet.”

Gwen gave a half-hearted scowl and then pressed a couple of buttons. Fíli’s face lightened in astonishment as their conversation was played back verbatim. “That’s the voice recorder,” Gwen said with a satisfied smile. “I play with it a lot when I get bored.”

“Unbelievable,” Fíli breathed in incredulity. “By Mahal, you truly aren’t from Middle Earth.” He turned serious. “How did you even come here?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “And I have no idea of how to get back.” She tucked her phone back in her pocket and sat down on the end of the bed, legs hanging gracelessly over the footboard. “That’s why I need to come on this Quest,” she said quietly. “I have to believe that I am here for some purpose, or I really will go mad. As far as I can tell, the Quest for Erebor is the only possible reason that I could have been brought here.”

Fíli kneeled down in front of her so as to look her in the eye. “How did you come to know so much of us and our purpose if you are truly not from Middle Earth?”

She shrugged. “Where I come from Middle Earth is a fictional world developed by a linguist named Tolkien. It’s written of extensively, it’s true, with many different books that go into extraordinary detail, but it’s still fiction all the same. I haven’t read all of his books.” She hesitated for a moment and squirmed a little uncomfortably before saying, “The Quest for Erebor was written of in a book called The Hobbit, a bedtime story that Tolkien wrote for his children. A complex and detailed story, but a bedtime story nevertheless.”

“And that is how you knew so much about our Company?” Fíli questioned.

“Yes, and I know more of what’s to come, although I can’t be certain of how true it all is.” She looked up at him and reached out and caught his large hands between her own smaller and softer ones. “Fíli, if what Tolkien wrote is true, this Quest does not end well for the Line of Durin.”

Fíli clutched at her hands. “What does that mean?”

Gwen vacillated. “I don’t know if I should say.” She flinched at his hurt expression. “I am afraid of what might change if others were to know!” She cried.

“You don’t even know that any of it will actually happen,” he pointed out with a hint of desperation.

“But I don’t know that it won’t either,” she shot back. “Is that something you truly want me to risk? That you are willing to risk?”

Fíli untangled her hands from his and stumbled to his feet, pacing across the room. “You said that you were basing all of this off a children’s tale,” he said a tad harshly.

“Fíli, children’s tale or not, I don’t know what else I am supposed to assume.” She hopped down off the bed and went across the room to where he was pacing in agitation. “Convince Thorin to take me with you,” she begged. “I only want to help.”

He considered her from the corner of his eye, obviously torn. Gwen held her breath. This was it. If Fíli decided to reject her now she was unsure of what else she could do. Sure she could attempt to trail after them, but in her current state and with her current level of supplies (read: none whatsoever), it was improbable that she would succeed. Everything depended on what Fíli decided right now, and from the look on his face she could tell that he knew it.

After a few more moments of consideration he gave a slight nod of his head and she let out a sigh of relief. “I will speak with Thorin,” he said. “But if we want this to work then some things are going to need to change. If you continue on as you have been, Thorin will leave you at the next possible settlement without question. If we are to convince him of your use, you will need to act more like the truth-seeing dwarrowdam you claimed to be. Are you able to do this?”

“Yes,” she grinned, filled with a sense of giddy, weightless joy that she had managed to convince him.

He squinted his eyes, considering her. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

Overcome with such tremendous relief at having finally come clean and been accepted, she threw her arms around him in an impulsive hug. “You won’t regret this,” she whispered into his collar.

Hesitantly, he lifted his hands to her back, lightly returning her embrace. After a few seconds her body stiffened in awareness and she pulled away in embarrassment. Good God, what was she thinking? They stood looking uncomfortably at each other for a long time, and she could feel a blush beginning to heat her cheeks when their stalemate was interrupted by a loud pounding at the door.

“Fíli!” Kíli’s voice called through the sturdy wood. “Fíli, are you in there?”

Fíli gave her one last look and then turned and opened the door to reveal a smirking Kíli.

“Ah, there you are brother. I didn’t think you would be the one to go off by yourself in the hobbit’s home. What were you—” His brows rose in surprise when he finally saw her standing closer to the bed. An unholy grin lit his face. “So that’s how it is, huh? Although Fíli, I must warn you, Uncle probably won’t be very happy to hear you have been—”

“Shut up, Kíli!” Fíli hissed. Then he turned back towards her. “I’ll leave you now, Miss Gwendolyn.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, “I should probably go find Bilbo anyways and see if I can get a room and some clothes. Perhaps a bath, if I’m really lucky,” she added with a small smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, pushing an inquisitive Kíli back out of the doorway. “Good night, Miss Gwendolyn.” And he shut the door with a click, leaving her alone in the bedroom.

She fell backwards onto the bed with a loud sigh. Her mind spun as she stared at the ceiling. She tilted her head to gaze out the window up at the night sky.

 _Well,_ she thought to herself as she gazed up at the unfamiliar constellations. _I guess now is when I start making the best of Middle Earth_.

With a groan she heaved herself back on her tired and aching feet. Time to go off in search of Bilbo and, hopefully, a hot bath. Now that she didn’t have anything else to distract her she realized that she stunk to high heaven.

Yes, a bath would be just the thing right about now.


	6. The Adventurer's New Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwendolyn scandalizes the dwarves and Dori swoops in to save the day.

Gwendolyn sat relaxing in the warmth of the fire in her newly assigned guest bedroom while she untangled her damp hair with a small wooden comb that an accommodating Bilbo had provided for her. The room was small but neat, with a couple of sturdy chairs and a bed that looked to be very comfortable indeed. Gwen let out a sigh of deep satisfaction. Bilbo was a delightful host. When Gwen had cornered him about an hour or so earlier, asking about a room and possibly a bath, the hobbit had leapt at the chance to assist a guest. Gwen had been bombarded with soap, towels, tea, clothes, more tea, and, after a particularly strong draft that Bilbo had been downwind of, even more soap. Gwen would have been offended, but she had gotten a good sniff of herself as she was getting ready for her bath and after that she really couldn’t begrudge Bilbo the extra soap.

As she tugged the comb through her hair, Gwen thought back over her conversation with Fíli. Again she felt a thrill run through her that another person knew the truth about her. Perhaps later she would regret that she had told someone so much of herself, but at the moment she still felt giddy with relief. She wasn’t alone anymore. And while she recognized that she knew almost nothing of Fíli beyond their two short encounters and references in a children’s book, she couldn’t help but trust him.

She secured her hair in a braid with one of her few remaining hair ties. The task reminded her of how little she had come here with and how unprepared she was to set out on an adventure in the morning. She didn’t think that Thorin would be very understanding if she said she had some shopping to do before they could leave. Not that she had the faintest idea of where she could find any places from which to shop. Or that she had any money with which to buy anything even if she could find such a place. This adventuring business wasn’t as simple as Tolkien had made it seem.

After she had finished with her hair she dithered a few more minutes in front of the fire, completely clueless as to where to begin. Before her bath Bilbo had given her a set of his mother’s old clothes. At Gwen’s insistence it had been one of her old adventuring outfits rather than one of her proper hobbit dresses. The idea of tramping through Middle Earth in skirts made her blanch in horror. No. Just… No.

The clothes were comfortable, but too small for anything besides nightclothes. The only reason they fit was because of Gwen’s relative slenderness and a hobbit’s propensity for plumpness. As it was the shirt rode right at the waistline of the pants that were so short they may as well be boardshorts. It was all held together by a weathered belt that she had cinched to the tightest notch, and she looked like nothing so much as an island castaway. This was not suitable adventuring attire. But it was all Bilbo could give her, and she didn’t want to seem ungracious.

Finally deciding that she had spent enough time lingering alone in her room, she went to the door and peeked her head out.

 _No one in the hallway. Good._ Then she shook her head at the absurdity of the thought and laughed at her own silliness. She was to set out on a Quest with fifteen men tomorrow. At some point she would have to get over this instinctive aversion she seemed to have for their company.

She tiptoed down the corridor with bare feet in search of Fíli, her newly anointed partner in crime. If Bilbo couldn’t help her with her lack of clothing then she supposed that Fíli was her next best option.

She was padding along quietly, debating how improper it would be to ask Fíli to basically dress her, when as she rounded the corner she smacked into a hard chest and went sprawling to the floor. She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked up to see a young dwarf observing her with a horrified expression. She took in his unfortunate bowl cut and his mitten-clad hands that were twisting themselves nervously together in front of him and then gave a small “oh!” of comprehension. Ah, this must be Ori then!

“Oh, hello,” she said a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She scrambled to her feet, wincing when she brushed her scraped hands against her reddened bare knees. Yep, these were definitely not adventuring clothes. She would be shredded to pieces in no time. She pasted on a smile and held a hand out to the still-gaping dwarf in front of her. “You’re Ori, right? My name is Gwendolyn.”          

Ori looked down at her outstretched hand like it was going to bite him and eventually gave her a flustered bob. Gwen awkwardly retracted her hand and rubbed her palms together, already beginning to feel the chill setting in at her lack of clothing. And based upon the bug-eyed look that Ori was giving her bare knees, this was not considered acceptable dwarrowdam attire.

“I don’t suppose you know where Fíli is?” She finally asked. Ori gave her a nervous nod and Gwen waited expectantly. When nothing more was forthcoming Gwen said, “Could you show me to him, please?”

After giving her another inexplicably jumpy bob of his head Ori gestured back down the hall with a hand and Gwen trailed after him with a bemused expression. For an official scribe, he sure was short on words.

The further down the hall they went the more clearly she could hear the grumbling of the dwarves of the Company. When they reached the doorway Ori paused and gestured to the corner where Fíli, Bofur, and Nori were drinking and then scurried away. Already her appearance and attire were drawing attention, so she squared her shoulders and made her way across the room to where Fíli sat.

Halfway there Fíli looked up and saw her. If Ori’s previous reaction wasn’t enough, the shocked expression on Fíli’s face would have definitely tipped her off to the oddity of her attire. From the corner of her eye she caught the not-so-subtle nudge that Nori gave Bofur, which she valiantly ignored. _I am not doing anything wrong_ , she thought to herself a tad grumpily. In fact, she was wearing a lot more than many people wore to school on a regular basis. Just look at how far past her fingertips her shorts… err… pants were! And there wasn’t even a hint of cleavage. But with the way all the dwarves were looking at her you would think she was practically naked. 

She made it over to the corner where Fíli was sitting and took the spot on the bench next to him. “As you can see,” she said a bit stiffly, “I’m having something of a wardrobe crisis.”

Fíli cleared his throat. “Yes, I can see quite a lot of it.”

Gwen dug her elbow into his side and Fíli gasped. “That’s not what I meant! Besides,” she sniffed, “this is completely appropriate where I’m from.”

Fíli looked down at her crossed ankles and bare feet and then all the way up to where her legs disappeared inside her shorts halfway up her thigh. “Well it’s not appropriate here,” he said a tad gruffly. “Where are the rest of your clothes?”

“This is all that Bilbo could give me!” She hissed. “I thought they fit surprisingly well.”

“You won’t find a dwarf here who will agree,” Fíli whispered.

“Well this is all I have. It’s actually why I came to find you,” she whispered back. “I don’t know where I am going to get all the things I need to travel. I don’t have anything, not even money to pay for things.” She paused with apprehension. “You have talked with Thorin about me coming, right?”

Fíli scowled. “Of course I have.”

“And?” She prompted anxiously.

“And he will allow you to accompany us,” he said with slight exasperation. She grinned widely and gave a small bounce on their bench. “As long as,” Fíli interrupted, “I personally keep an eye on you.”

Gwen stared at him for a moment. “So you’re what, my babysitter?” She felt her pride rankle at the thought of being treated like some mischievous child.

“It is a time-honored tradition amongst my people,” Fíli explained. “Especially with the low number of females among us. Each dwarrowdam within a traveling company is assigned a markhel*, or a shield of all shields, so as to assure their safety. It has become even more important since the Fall of Erebor.” He gazed forward gravely, his eyes clouded with sorrow. “The whims of the world are not kind to our womenfolk.”

Gwen nodded and turned to face forwards as well, watching Nori and Bofur blowing smoke rings and pretend that they were not trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. When he put it like that it sounded slightly more reasonable, especially considering her complete lack of training. However, the idea of becoming the tag-along charity case that Thorin reluctantly tolerated rubbed her the wrong way, and she resolved to bring up weapons training at a later date with Fíli. By the time they reached Erebor, she would no longer be some helpless damsel in need of a bodyguard. She thought back through her knowledge of The Hobbit. _Better make it before the Misty Mountains_ , she thought with a grimace. _Just to be safe._

Then another thought occurred to her and Gwen pinned Fíli with a suspicious glare. “That’s not all, is it?” She whispered vehemently. “Your uncle wants you to spy on me, doesn’t he?”

Fíli let out a heavy sigh. “Yes.”

“And you agreed to it?” She asked incredulously. “I thought I had made it clear how important it was that this remained secret! This could seriously change things!”

“Yes, I know that!” Fíli snapped. “But he’s not just my uncle, he’s my King! Do you know what you are asking of me?”

She considered him for a long moment with an unfathomable expression on her face. “Honestly… No, Fíli, I don’t.” He turned to her with his mouth gaping open and she gave a shrug. “Where I come from, we don’t have a King. And we are known for being incredibly individualistic and independent. So in my mind, if I have weighed the consequences and decided that it is for the best that Thorin cannot know… then that doesn’t bother me, because in my opinion it is necessary.” She turned to face him and reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder. “So Fíli, I need to know… What have you told Thorin?”

Fíli shrugged his shoulder and dislodged her grasp, and she realized how much stronger he was than her. How much stronger all these true dwarves must be than her.

“Nothing,” he answered grudgingly. “I have told him nothing.”

“And will you?” She asked him impatiently. He met her probing stare with impassivity. “Fíli,” she pleaded, “I wouldn’t ask this of you unless I thought it was of the utmost importance.”

“And I am supposed to just take your word?” He demanded angrily. “You won’t even tell me what is going to happen. Why shouldn’t I simply tell Thorin and let him deal with you?”

“I’m afraid that I already may have told you too much!” She replied, resisting the temptation to tug on her hair with frustration. “I’m afraid that I have already changed too much by just being here.” She paused, and then leaned in to whisper one of her darkest fears. “What if my presence causes you all to be killed before you even reach Erebor?” She shook her head when he opened his mouth to reply. “No, no, I don’t know for sure that it will happen, but that’s my point. You can never be completely sure. For now, I am here, and I have told you, and we will just have to deal with all and any consequences that might come from these things. But I will not risk any more by telling anyone who is not absolutely necessary.” She cut him off again. “ _Especially_ in regards to Thorin.”

On this she was going to be immovable. She couldn’t remember if it was explicitly stated, but she was afraid that near the end of their journey Thorin might very well lose his mind to gold madness. No, Thorin could not be relied upon. At least not with this.

Fíli considered her for a long moment before giving a slight nod and a heavy sigh of defeat. “Fine,” he conceded. “We will do this your way. But just be warned that if this threatens the success of the Quest or the safety of any of the Company, I will not hesitate to go directly to Thorin.”

She nodded reluctantly. “I can respect that,” she acknowledged. “But know that even if you tell Thorin, I hold the right to deny answering any questions he might ask.”

Fíli looked at her with serious, and slightly disbelieving, eyes. “As long as you are willing to tell _him_ that.”

Gwen felt something quake inside her at the idea of having an actual battle of wills with Thorin Oakenshield. Oh goodness, she truly hoped it never came to that.

They sat in silence for several moments as the sounds of the revelry of the Company floated around them. Gwen let out a sigh and let the tension drain out of her as she was soothed by the high spirits of the dwarves. Across from them Bofur and Nori had taken their smoking contest one step further, and seemed to be placing hefty bets on the size and width of their smoke rings. Or at least she _hoped_ they were talking about smoke rings. Bombur was still seated at the table, snacking on some leftovers that had been missed during their musical clean up earlier. Kíli, Glóin, Bifur, Dwalin, and, surprisingly, Dori, were having an arm wrestling tournament, which Óin was refereeing. Dori appeared to be the reigning champion, which if Dwalin’s unhappy scowl was anything to go by was not what had been expected. She chuckled when Dori slammed Dwalin’s arm down with a table-shaking THUMP once more, and Kíli and Bifur gave in to gales of laughter while Dwalin protested and badgered for a rematch. Over by the fire Balin and Thorin were quietly conversing, with Ori sitting to one side with his journal out, presumably taking notes on their conversation.  

 _My dwarves,_ she thought with a fond smile. _I suppose they are all my dwarves now. My dwarves to protect. My dwarves to save._ Bilbo hurried by to scold Dwalin for sticking his hand in the cookie jar on the mantle after his ignominious defeat. _And one hobbit,_ she added with a grin.  

Fíli finally looked over at her and started at the reminder of her state of dress. “Oh Mahal, I almost forgot. We have got to find you more appropriate clothes.” He got to his feet in a nervous rush. “Come, let’s go fetch Dori. If I remember correctly he was a well-known tailor in Ered Luin before he and his brothers signed up for the Quest.”

He stuck his hand out and hauled her to her feet before heading off to haul Dori out of his match with a sweating and straining Kíli. Gwen followed with a fond smile.

* * *

 

Watching Gwendolyn fending off Dori as he took her measurements was almost diverting enough to make Fíli forget their previous confrontation. But only almost. While he found that he understood what Gwendolyn was saying and why she was so insistent on secrecy, he still found himself ill at-ease at keeping something so important from Thorin. 

For so long Fíli had looked up to Thorin, first as an uncle, then as a replacement father figure, then as he grew older his King and sworn sovereign. While Fíli and Kíli had pulled their fair share of pranks over the years and hidden the evidence of their misdeeds from Thorin’s sharp, all-knowing eyes, they had never lied about anything truly important. And some feeling deep in Fíli’s gut told him that this was probably one of the most important things that he would ever deal with in his life. As much as he put up a strong and optimistic front for the rest of the Company, he knew that this Quest of theirs had the potential to go horribly wrong. But these were doubts that he never allowed himself to show, for he knew that his duty as Crown Prince was to inspire confidence and strength in their people. And he was able to accomplish this with nary a spare thought until he had come to Bag End. Until he had met her.

Gwendolyn turned all of his beliefs inside out. If her vehement protests hadn’t already convinced him of the matter, this recent conversation would have done it. No dwarf, dam or otherwise, would ever had asserted something so… so…

Fíli found himself quite out of words to describe the enigma that was Gwendolyn. Never had he met someone like her, one who looked so similar to him and his kind outwardly, but was so different within. Although, based upon the near-scandalous viewing he had gotten when she showed up in her make-shift attire earlier, he found himself doubting their similarities physically as well, apart from her height. Her meager clothing had revealed surprisingly delicate legs and feet, at least compared to your average dwarrowdam. As she had walked across the room he had been constantly afraid of one ill-placed dwarven boot shattering the bones in her dainty feet. And with her out of her wet and unfamiliar clothes he had noticed a sense of grace about her that dwarves simply did not possess. Compared to a dwarf she positively floated across the room, her steps light and her stance fluid, and when she had reached out to grasp his shoulder he had been aware of how easy it would be for him to reach out and snap her slender wrist in his hand.

The idea of her out in the Wilds, possibly facing bandits and orcs and who knew what else, almost made him sick. Every masculine instinct screamed that she needed to be shielded and protected, lest the harsh reality of the world break her, body and spirit. In that moment he understood where the tradition of the markhel had come, this frantic and possessive need to ensure that something so rare and prized remain safe from the perils of the world. No matter how battle-ready a dwarrowdam might be, they were too precious to be risked so needlessly. And from the way Gwendolyn spoke and moved, Fíli suspected that in her world she had never been required to learn a warrior’s skills, especially not to the point that she would be considered battle-ready. Fíli felt his palms break out into a nervous sweat at the thought of her facing down a warg, or worse, an orc.

At that moment, Fíli felt increasingly irritated that Gwendolyn would not simply tell him what it was that had her so convinced that she must personally accompany them on their Quest. He was tempted to just force it out of her and then leave her trussed up here and unable to follow them. Here she would be protected. Here she would be safe.

But then her earnest face filled his mind, her pleading and serious slate blue eyes boring into his own as she spoke of her need for purpose and her conviction in the significance of her presence. And he found himself unable to truly consider leaving her behind. Besides, while the Shire seemed pleasant and peaceful, it was in no way as secure as a dwarven stronghold. He found it was not in his blood to leave a dwarrowdam, strange or not, so far from the safety of the mountains. So her sworn markhel he was to become, for better or worse.

He was drawn out of his musings by an indignant squawk from behind the curtain where Dori was taking Gwendolyn’s measurements in the makeshift dressing room they had created. He felt his lips twitching up involuntarily into a grin.

“Hold still and stop squirming, young lady!” He could hear Dori scold.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not something you need to be measuring,” Gwendolyn shot back, and Fíli could feel his grin growing wider at the thought of the scowl that must be on Gwendolyn’s face.

“And I am most sure that it is,” Dori replied. “You act as though you have never had a fitting before!”

There was a long pause and then Gwendolyn stuttered, “O-of course I’ve had a fitting! Because that’s how clothes are made. Obviously. Not like you could just pick them up off a shelf and have them fit. That would be ridiculous. No, I’ve just never had a male take them before, that’s all.”

“Well, if you would just tell me your measurements we wouldn’t have to be doing this,” Dori chided. “And why you didn’t pack properly before coming to find us, I will never know.” There was a hint (read: an abundance) of censure in Dori’s tone, telling anyone who cared to listen exactly what he thought of the idea of a young dam going off by herself. If Fíli remembered what Ori had told him correctly, Dori Rison was a very traditional dwarf, and had very set ideas of what a dwarf was or was not allowed to do, especially the young ones.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember,” he heard Gwendolyn mutter.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know my measurements!” She confessed.

“Then if we could continue?” Dori asked with no small amount of impatience coloring his tone. Gwendolyn gave a grumble of agreement and then all Fíli heard was the tell-tale rustling of a tailor practicing his trade. With each rustle and whisper of movement Fíli found himself unable to keep from imagining exactly was going on behind the curtain, what exactly was being measured, and he could feel the tips of his ears heating up. What was he, some green dwarf of 50?

Fíli cleared his throat and called out to the two behind the curtain. “I think I’ll go out and find some extra clothes that Gwendolyn will be able to wear.”

Dori stuck his head out from behind the curtain. “Find me something of Ori’s. Or Kíli’s. This hobbit clothing is going to take too long to alter appropriately, and anything else would be too large.”

From behind him Gwendolyn also stuck her head out and Fíli caught a glimpse of the bare skin of her delicate collarbone. Dori’s sharp tones snapped him out of his daze. “Well, go on now!”

With a short bow, Fíli turned on his heel and made himself scarce. For better or worse, indeed. Gwendolyn might just drive him mad before the time this Quest was done.

* * *

 

After her fitting with the exacting Dori, Gwendolyn found herself back in her ill-fitting hobbit clothes and at a loss for what to do. When he had heard of not only her complete lack of a wardrobe, but also her complete lack of traveling supplies of any sort, Dori had clicked his tongue and said, “Well now, that won’t do. Leave it to me, young lady,” and then marched off to “go have a word with Master Baggins.” Gwen could only wish Bilbo luck. 

She snagged a blanket from her room and draped it around her shoulders before wandering down the hall towards the kitchen, unsure of what to do with herself. None of her new clothes were supposed to be ready until tomorrow morning, and even then Dori had said that it would take several weeks for him to finish altering the rest of her donated clothing while they were traveling.

Upon reaching the sitting room she saw most of the dwarves arranging themselves around the crackling fireplace. She picked her way across the room and settled herself down by the window to get away from the pipe smoke hanging in the air. This was definitely something that she wouldn’t miss. Hopefully on the roads it wouldn’t be quite so bad, or at least more avoidable. She looked over and saw Ori sitting on the other end of the window bench.

“Why hello,” she said with a smile. “It’s you again.”

Ori gave her a silent nod and then faced forwards, avoiding eye contact. After a bit of awkward silence she cleared her throat and spoke again.

“I wanted to thank you for giving me some of your clothes. Dori said that there weren’t that many of the Company who were close enough to my size.”

He was still avoiding eye contact with her, so she turned forwards and fiddled nervously with her fingers, unsure of exactly what she had done wrong. Of all the dwarves, Ori wasn’t the one who she had thought would snub her. Glóin and Dwalin? Most definitely. But sweet, kind Ori? She wracked her brain, trying to think of some reason he would avoid her.

Their floundering tête-à-tête was interrupted when Bofur flopped down between them with a pipe in his hand and a smile on his lips. “So, I see you’ve met our new member of the Company!” Bofur said to Ori with a grin. Ori nodded his head and said something unintelligible underneath his breath. Bofur let out a snort of amusement. “Now lad, don’t tell me your still sore about that small bit o’ fun the lass had about you at dinner! It’s just the way lassies are!”

Gwen wrinkled her brow in confusion, uncertain of what Bofur was talking about when it came back to her in a snap.

“Oh!” She gasped. “Oh, Ori, I am so sorry! No Ori, I wasn’t laughing at you! Well, I was…” She caught the mortified look on Ori’s face. “No, not like that! Oh dang it, this is all coming out wrong. It’s just, you see…” Here she paused and could feel her face burning in embarrassment.

“Oh ho!” Bofur winked knowingly. “Perhaps the lassie prefers—”

“No, that’s not it!” She interrupted hastily, alarmed at what Bofur might say. When Bofur gave her another, considerably more suggestive, wink she scowled. “Oh stuff it! What I meant to say was that—” She cut herself off and looked away with a decidedly sheepish expression.

“Yes?” Ori prompted quietly, a guarded expression on his face.

“If you really must know, I tend to laugh in awkward situations. I can’t help it. And then you stood up and well… I don’t believe I have ever heard anyone threaten to stuff something up a dragon’s ‘jacksie.’” She darted a glance at Ori and then bent down to studiously inspect her cuticles. “I really am sorry about it. Childish of me, really.”

Bofur gave Ori a hearty slap on the back. “Oh, come on lad! The lassie apologized!”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Gwen said, shooting him a black look.

Bofur turned and suddenly pinned her with a probing stare. “Someone has to keep an eye on you, eh lass?”

She frowned back at him. “I thought that was Fíli’s job.”

“Ah well,” Bofur said with a deceptive smile back on his face. “More than one eye never hurt anyone, did it?” And though he roared with laughter at his own, admittedly poor, joke, Gwen still caught the sharp look in his eye when he glanced her way. With a jolt she recalled that he and Nori had been sitting closest when she and Fíli had their discussion earlier, and she wondered just how much they had both heard. Oh, this whole secrecy thing was going to get shot to hell, wasn’t it?

After a few more innocuous comments Bofur got to his feet and went to talk with his cousin (or whom she assumed was his cousin, since he was the only one with an axe sticking out of his head) and Gwen was left with Ori once more. Gwen despaired that the awkward silence would descend again and she would forever be lingering on the outskirts of this Company, when Ori gently cleared his throat.

“So,” he said quietly, a shy look on his face, “I saw you were with Dori earlier.”

“Yes!” She said eagerly. At this point she was quite ready to leap upon any sort of conversation. “Oh yes, I was. He was helping me with some new clothes, since I lost all of mine.” She leaned forward a little to whisper. “He’s a bit bossy, don’t you think?”

For a second she thought that she had gone too far, that Ori was going to be offended for his brother and clam up again, but then she saw his shoulders relax a bit and he leaned forward as well. “You have no _idea_ ,” he proclaimed in the tones of all long-suffering siblings everywhere.

And so, having been forgiven and possibly even made a new friend, she and Ori chatted for the rest of the evening about siblings and reading and knitting and a bundle of other things they found they had in common.

As the hour began to grow late their conversation petered out and they sat quietly observing the rest of the room until Thorin began to hum from where he stood near the smoldering fire.   

 _This is it,_ she realized as she watched all the dwarves join in one by one. _This is when they become The Company of Thorin Oakenshield._ She glanced over to the corridor, where she could see Bilbo surreptitiously listening in. _This is when Bilbo makes his decision._ She closed her eyes and felt the reverberations of the dwarves’ singing deep in her chest. She opened her eyes and met Fíli’s gaze from across the room.

_This is when our journey begins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Markhel - Shield of all shields
> 
> This was taken from the Neo-Khuzdul Dictionary. The tradition is not canon, but I figured it wouldn't be unlikely considering how few female dwarves there are and how seldom they travel outside dwarven strongholds. 
> 
> Fíli's musings on the differences between Gwendolyn and the dwarves was inspired by the Appendices of An Unexpected Journey, where the actors talk about their "dwarf training" and how different dwarf movements and proportions are from what we would consider ordinary "human" movement.


	7. It's a Dangerous Business Going Out Your Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our characters finally leave Bag End and there is some shameless Gwen and Fíli fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I apologize for letting such a large gap develop between postings. I was suffering from writer's block. Gwen just didn't want me to write her out of Bag End. It's almost like she knows that as soon as she ventures out into Middle Earth I am going to exercise my authorial right to torture her as much as possible. Poor Gwen.
> 
> The idea for the alarm clock in this chapter came from my roommate's Timex Wacky Shake and Wake Alarm Clock. I seriously get the biggest kick out of that thing. Idea for the alarm in general is credited to the lovely anaellefire.
> 
> I also want to say a big thanks to everyone who has commented on this fic and waited patiently for an update. You guys are the best :)

_Gwen was running. Why was she running? Around her were trees, magnificent trees that reached up and up until they looked as if they would touch the sky. Her feet pounded on the dirt path in time with her ragged breathing, and as she looked around all she could see was an endless expanse of trees. No undergrowth. No animals. No sight of any other living being besides herself._

I should stop and figure out where I’m going, _she thought in a detached sort of way. And yet she couldn’t stop running._

_Soon the path lead down into a small gully and she felt herself starting to lose control as her legs struggled to handle the steep incline. With a shout she lost her footing and began to tumble head over heels down to the bottom. And yet when she landed flat on her back she was in a meadow of wildflowers with the forest nowhere in sight._

Welcome child, _a rich, husky voice intoned. Gwen scrambled to her feet and found herself face-to-face with a woman adorned in flowing green silks and a glittering diadem that burned her eyes with the force of its light. Before averting her eyes she caught sight of swirling vines and fruits that patterned her clothing and the warm hue of her skin._

What do you know, _she thought to herself with a hint of humor._ The nature goddess is black. Wait, African American. Wait…

 _The goddess gave a throaty chuckle._ Black is just fine, child. There is no need for your so-called “political correctness” here. _She tilted her head in amusement at Gwen’s obvious embarrassment._ Do you know who I am child?

I am assuming a manifestation of my unconscious mind? _Gwen said, only a tad flippantly._

Humph, you humans and your psychology, _the goddess said with a considerable amount of derision coloring her tone._ Always thinking that you have the answers to everything. Don’t even get me started on Freud, that— _Here the goddess inserted a word that she didn’t recognize but that sounded suitably scathing._

In our defense, Freud’s been largely discredited, _Gwen offered helpfully. Based upon the look that the goddess was giving her, it wasn’t much of a defense._

Enough of this, _the goddess said brusquely._ We’re running out of time. Now that you have found your way into my fields, it will be easier for us to communicate in the future. Now listen closely, you have been doing well so far. I’m not allowed to tell you much, and I’ve broken many of the rules by even bringing you here.

 _Here she waved her hand to forestall all of the protestations that were leaping to escape Gwen’s mouth._ It was necessary. And all I can tell you for the time being is to stay close to the Line of Durin. Now go child, an adventure awaits you.

_Before she was able to say anything more, the goddess gave a wave of her hand and Gwen was thrown backwards by a massive force to her chest. As she flew into the darkness of her own mind, she could hear the goddess’ rich voice calling after her._

You will forget this when you wake. Go child, and let the blessings of Yavanna be upon you.

  _And with that, Gwen felt herself falling back into the soothing darkness of slumber._

* * *

 

“Hello sleepyhead! Rise and shine! Good morning! Up up up up up up up up! Good morning, sunshine!”

“Ungh,” Gwen groaned as she twisted around in bed trying to find her phone while simultaneously blocking out the maddening, nasally voice that set her ears ringing. Why did she always think that she would actually use her alarm when she was on vacation? And that wasn’t even taking into account the horribly annoying voices that she had stupidly set her alarm to. If her alarm had a face she’d punch it. 

In the back of her mind she was remembering a very different voice, one that was low and rich and evoked images of green and growing things, but then the alarm went off again and she forgot about everything but her irritation.

“My Uncle Antony used to sleep late, you know that?” The alarm had taken on a heavy Italian accent now. “Alarm goes off… Badabing! Snooze! Alarm goes off… Badaboom! Snooze! You know what we call Uncle Antony now? The late Uncle Antony.”

“Oh my god, where is that stupid phone?!” She complained. She searched under the covers some more before turning over one too many times and tumbling off the bed. “Oomph!” She grunted as all the air left her body in a huff.  She lay staring at the ceiling for a moment before hauling herself off the floor and tearing apart the bedcovers. Why could she never find that blasted phone!

“Oh my goodness, it’s time to wake up you sleeping person,” a chiding Indian voice said as she grumpily tore all the covers to the foot of the bed. “Yes you! That’s right, get out of bed. You cannot hit that sleep button. Do not hit that snooze button, it is time to get up. There is no more time for snoozing. Up, up, up!”

She was rounding the bed to go check the nightstand when loud knocking sounded at the door. Gwen gave a startled squeak and smashed her foot into the bedpost. “Gwendolyn?” She heard Fíli’s voice call out. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m—” But she didn’t get to finish her reply because Fíli and Kíli had already threw the door open with such force that it crashed into the wall and then rebounded and smacked Fíli in the face. Kíli bound out from behind his brother and Gwen gave an unconscious yelp at the sword in his hands.

“What—What are you—Get out!” She spluttered angrily, already annoyed because of the still-elusive, still-blaring phone. When they both stood staring at her she picked up a pillow. “Get out right now!” She yelled.

“But Miss,” Kíli protested, “We heard those voices and we could hear noises and thumps and—”

“I fell out of bed, you idiots!” She chucked the pillow and caught Kíli square in the face. “Out!” Not even waiting to see if they left, she began tossing the covers again before inspiration struck and she dropped down to the floor on her belly. “Aha, gotcha!” She cried out in triumph as she pulled her still-talking phone out from underneath her bed. She quickly turned off the alarm and then got a look at the time. Six o’clock in the morning?! What was she, insane?

Deciding that it was way too early to even consider getting out of bed, she crawled back under the covers and carefully set the phone on the nightstand where she could easily find it. She was just snuggling down into the blankets when she heard someone clear their throat.

Her eyes popped open. “What are you two still doing here?”

Both dwarves took a step backwards at the sheer annoyance in her voice. Kíli cleared his throat nervously. “So you’re alright then?”

“Not with a couple of noisy dwarves in my room, I’m not!” She snapped in irritation. Seriously, what did they have against sleeping in?

Fíli stepped forward and gave her a pointed look. “Come Gwendolyn, it is time to leave. The hobbit has decided not to come and our uncle wishes for an early start. If you are not ready within the hour, you will be left.”

Gwen shot straight up in bed. “What! Bilbo’s not coming?” She threw the covers off and hopped out of bed, and then slammed her foot into the nightstand in the process. “Shit!” She yelped, hopping on one foot and reaching down to grab her throbbing toes. “Shitshitshitshit!”

Fíli snorted. “Did you hurt your dainty little elf feet, Miss Gwendolyn?” He gave a low shout when she pegged him in the face with her other pillow and Kíli snickered.

“What do you mean Bilbo’s not coming?” She repeated after the pain in her toes had begun to recede.

“Thorin and Balin heard the hobbit refuse Gandalf’s offer last night. Since he will not be accompanying us, Thorin had everyone leave early this morning. We were told to wake you and meet by The Green Dragon at eight o’clock.” Fíli gestured over to the corner where Gwen noticed a pack had been put sometime after she went to bed the night before. “All of the supplies and clothes you need have been put in there. Come out when you’re ready, and Kíli and I will take you to the inn.” With a short bow he and Kíli left her to get ready.

Gwen plopped down on the edge of her bed, consternation furrowing her brow.

“Well, fuck,” she muttered while rubbing her still-throbbing toe. Now what was she going to do?

* * *

 

Fíli watched as Kíli paced around the hobbit’s kitchen as they waited for Gwendolyn to get ready and gave a small sigh of exasperation. Patience was not one of Kíli’s virtues. Finally, just as Kíli was making motions to start juggling the hobbit’s dishes again, he broke the silence. 

“You go on ahead, Kee,” he said with a knowing tilt of his head. “I’m sure that Uncle can find you something to do that won’t end up in paying recompense for broken dishes.”

Kíli stopped his inspection of the hobbit’s ugly dishware. “Uncle told us both to wait for her,” he said with half-hearted protest.

Fíli quirked a brow. “I hardly think it takes two dwarves to escort a dam to the Company.” He nodded his head. “Go on, I’ll wait.”

Kíli grinned. “Well if you’re sure…” He trailed off hopefully.

“Just get out of here before I change my mind,” Fíli said with mock severity.

“Say no more!” And with a wave of his hand Kíli was out the door.

 _Oh Mahal, brothers,_ Fíli thought with a fond smile. With Kíli gone, Fíli finally allowed himself to think over what had happened in Gwendolyn’s room this morning. At the thought of her bare feet and tousled hair, Fíli found himself glad that Kíli was gone. Fíli was unused to being around a female that was always so… disheveled. While he had lived all his life with his mum, Lady Dís, he had never come upon his mum in the level of disarray that Gwendolyn seemed to be in on a regular basis. Bare feet, unbound hair, uncovered limbs. In dwarven custom that was almost as good as a marriage proposal. No wonder Kíli had been distracted enough to let himself get hit in the face with a pillow (Fíli conveniently forgot his own facial assault via pillow). Fíli valiantly ignored the burning of his ears and told himself that he would have reacted this way to any dam that he saw half naked, much less with her hair down.

Fíli was drawn from his musings when there was a gentle tapping on his arms. He turned and there Gwendolyn stood, pack on her back and strange coat in hand, looking back at him from puzzled blue eyes. Her golden hair, so alike his in color but so much finer in texture, was secured atop her head in a single mass, leaving her slender neck bare. Fíli gave an involuntary swallow. For dwarves, baring the neck was an ultimate sign of trust, giving the other dwarf a clear view of your weakest point. And since Gwendolyn didn’t even have a beard this baring was doubly significant.

“Fíli?” She asked worriedly. She cocked her head to the side in question at his stunned silence. “Fíli, are you alright? Where’s Kíli?”

“Who?” He answered dazedly, still in shock at seeing her bare nape. There were a few curls of hair there that were even finer than the hair atop her head. As he drug his eyes away from the scandalous, yet tempting, sight his eyes caught on her ears. “What is that?” He asked in dismay.

“What is what?”  Her voice was beginning to sound irritated, he noted absently. “Fíli, what’s wrong with you?”

He reached his hand up as if to touch the stones and hoops in her ears and then hesitated when he saw the dangerous glint in her eyes. He aborted the gesture into a general wave. Gwendolyn reached her hand up and fiddled with one of the hoops up near the point of her ear.

“Are you asking about my ear piercings?”

Fíli nodded, overwhelmed by it all. First the feet, then the neck, now the piercings. It was too much. If Thorin saw them right now he’d send Gwendolyn back in an instant. And if Dwalin saw her piercings… He needed to fix this. Again he blessed Mahal that he had sent Kíli to meet up with the others. No way he’d be able to keep his mouth shut about this.

“Fíli!” Gwendolyn jolted him out of his thoughts again. “What is so wrong with my piercings?” Yes, she was definitely irritated now.

Fíli glanced out the kitchen window and saw how far the sun had risen. They needed to go meet Uncle before he sent someone back for them. Ticking Thorin off the day they left was not the best way to convince him that Gwendolyn should come. He turned back to Gwendolyn.

“Take your hair down.”

“Excuse me?” She asked with a peeved look on her face.

“Do you want to pass a dwarrowdam or not?” He asked testily.

“Well, yes—”

“Good. I don’t have time to go through all the reasons right now, but if you don’t want Thorin to toss you out of the Company at the next town you’ll put your hair down, preferably in braids. And don’t let anyone see those piercings. _Especially_ Dwalin.”

She studied him for a moment with her serious blue eyes and then nodded in acquiescence.

“Fine. But you’ll have to help me with the braids; otherwise it’ll take too long.”

Fíli gulped. _Oh Mahal help me._

* * *

 

From the look on Fíli’s face when she asked him to help braid her hair you would have thought that Gwen had asked him to strip naked. He licked his lips and darted a glance at her hair where it sat innocently on top of her head in its bun. It had taken her quite some time this morning to secure it with bobby pins for riding, all the while using her phone’s camera as a mirror. And now he wanted her to take it down! 

If she hadn’t been so sure of Thorin’s dislike of her and if it hadn’t been so important that she come along on this Quest, she would have told Fíli to take his stodgy dwarven sensibilities and go hang himself. As it was, there was no way she could tame that thick forest on top of her head that she called hair without some help. Especially if she had to cover her piercings as well. And Fíli better not think that she wasn’t going to bring that up again later. She was quite proud of her piercings, which she personally considered slightly edgy but tasteful, and it rubbed her the wrong way that she was being forced to hide them like they were something shameful.

“Well?” She prompted when Fíli was still gaping at her. “Are you gonna help me or what?” She reached up and began picking the bobby pins out of her hair and clenching them between her teeth. She could feel Fíli’s hesitancy hanging heavy in the air. As soon as she had loosened her hair it fell down her back in a wave and she could smell a faint hint of Bilbo’s floral soap. She resigned herself to the fact that this was the last time in a long while that she would smell so nice. She gathered her hair and began separating it into sections for braiding.

She had just begun to braid when she felt Fíli’s hands begin to work with another section of her hair. When she glanced from the corner of her eye she saw that Fíli was focused solely on the strands between his hands. She smiled to herself, strangely proud that she had roped such a virile and masculine dwarf into playing hairdresser. Shortly they had her hair secured in four braids, two on each side of her head that started above her temples, looped down over the tips of her ears and met at the base of her neck in a bun. She secured it with the bobby pins she had clenched between her teeth.

“How does it look?” She asked him, patting her hair looking for any loose ends.

“Fine,” Fíli answered gruffly, avoiding eye contact. “Are you finished here?”

Gwen shouldered her pack. “After you,” she said with a sarcastic wave.

And with that they left Bag End, although not before Gwen glanced backwards one last time with the vain hope of spotting a hobbit packed and ready to follow them.

 _Hurry and join us soon, Bilbo,_ she thought to herself before stepping outside and closing the door to Bag End behind her.  

* * *

 

The smial of Bilbo Baggins was silent save for the soft ticking of the clock above the mantelpiece. Particles of dust floated gently in a beam of sunshine and landed gently on the now-clean dishes that were stacked beside the kitchen sink. All indications that the smial had hosted a party of thirteen dwarves, one wizard, and one girl were gone, and it made the smial seem emptier than ever before. 

From around a corner came one hairy foot and then the other. Bilbo Baggins crept around his smial in complete silence, heaving a sigh of relief when he found it empty. Finally, they were gone. He could get back to his books and his maps and his armchair and his garden in peace.

As he was turning to head back to his kitchen he caught sight of something from the corner of his eye. There, sitting on his hallway table beside the folded clothes he had lent to Gwendolyn was the contract. And at the bottom, signed in a strong hand, was a signature.

Thorin son of Thráin.

With a slightly trembling hand, Bilbo picked up the contract. And so the fate of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and the entirety of Middle Earth, was changed forever.


End file.
